


To Love a Beast

by stardustsroses



Series: To Love a Beast [1]
Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: ACOTAR - Freeform, ACOWAR, Angst, Depression, F/M, Feylin, Fluff, Healing, Post-ACOFAS, Post-ACOWAR, acofas - Freeform, acomaf, tamlin mating bond, tamlin x emerie - Freeform, that don't actually matter to the acofas plot, very mild acofas spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-14
Updated: 2018-06-19
Packaged: 2019-05-23 07:04:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 25,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14929502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardustsroses/pseuds/stardustsroses
Summary: The story of a beast who found redemption in the most unexpected of places and who helped a female with clipped wings feel as if she could soar.Spoilers: this story contains a very minor character that appears in ACOFAS. However, if you haven’t read the book, don’t worry! I’m not spoiling anything from the book except Emerie, who appears for literally like seven paragraphs in one chapter. It will not involve major spoilers concerning the other main characters of the story. If you read the books, you’ll recognize very few details that are not all important (mainly about Tamlin). But if you still do not wish to continue reading this, it’s totally fine!Further warnings: mentions of depression and suicide.





	1. Chapter 1

Emerie

She found a beast on its knees.

The golden fur was covered in snow and needles of ice, its black claws retracting as if their owner had given its last breath.

His last breath.

Beyond the fur, beyond the ice, beyond the frightening trembling of his limbs…there was a male now. Fur began to disappear to reveal pale skin, the ice covering most of his naked form as if it had come from within him.

As if it had come from his own heart.

It had stopped snowing. She touched the tree bark that hid her from him and winced when the beast – the fae male – breathed in another weak, shaky breath and sunk into the piles of snow.

She stood there, unmoving, her bones frozen and shaking – and she wasn’t sure if it was only because of the cold in those mountains. Emerie looked around, and there was no one in sight. Why was he here? Why had he come? What was wrong?

And who the hell was he?

Delicately, cautiously, she sniffed him from where she stood. Her whole body went taut.

Not just fae – High Fae.

Her heart pounded in her chest. She should let him die here. She should leave. She should walk away and ignore what was in front of her.

Emerie looked behind her – it was still a long, long walk to camp, and it was supposed to get dark soon. Sniffing at the air, she could sense a storm coming towards her. In her bones, in her wings. She felt the electricity in the skies, the booming of clouds. She turned her face to the dying male. A storm was coming towards him, too. He’d be buried in the snow by morning. He would not survive.

She made to turn around and leave.

It was the right choice, she told herself. It was the sensible choice.

She repeated it to herself as she lifted her wings and shook the snow off them. She couldn’t do anything to help him. Not now. Not ever. Better to leave him to the elements than to risk having those claws on her throat.

She heard a wince.

And then a broken sob.

Emerie felt a pain so deep inside her chest she almost sank to her own knees. Slowly, she turned. He certainly hadn’t known she was there. Hadn’t even been able to scent her by the state of him.

Turn back around. Walk away.

But that pain in her chest-

Emerie. Walk away.

She would not be able to fly if he attacked her.

Could he even lift a finger?

She fought with herself.

And when she heard the skies clap, as if telling her to hurry, Emerie groaned to herself and walked to the male lying on the fluffy white ground.

Light hair covered most of his face. He was shaking, completely frozen. She sniffed at him again and found herself panicking at the scent of blood. She imagined a pool of it under him, spreading through the dark snow.

Idiot. Should’ve turned back around.

She took out her knife for good measure, and kept herself attentive as she knelt down beside him. He was breathing. Barely, but still breathing.

You’re going to regret this.

She touched his arm with the hilt of her blade. He did not move. But he opened one eye and stared at her.

Forest green. A shade she couldn’t quite put into words other than forest green. The green of bright, sunny woods. Or maybe it had once been like that. Now his eyes looked dead. Unfazed. Pained.

She knew enough by his looks that he wasn’t from here.

“I’m going to help you,” she said, her tone hard, firm. She pointed her knife at his chin. There was nothing but cold determination in her face. “If you try anything I will slit your throat and leave you to die here. Understand?”

Green eyes looked away from her as he took a difficult breath. Like he wouldn’t care what his fate was either way.

Emerie frowned. He wouldn’t hurt her. At least not right now.

She sighed and grabbed his arm. “You need to help me, too. If you want to live.”

He looked at her. “Leave.”

Emerie stared, open-mouthed. And the way he’d said it – a weak, broken command. An order.

She raised an eyebrow at him. “You want me to leave you here to die?”

Silence. He closed his eyes.

Stars’ sake.

“You already wasted enough of my time,” she spat, grabbing her bag and pulling out a woollen scarf, big enough to be a blanket to wrap around him. “Get up.”

Something in him seemed to awaken at her tone. Like he wasn’t used to being ordered around and found it extremely displeasing.

Emerie didn’t give a shit.

“I told you to get up.”

She knew by the look he gave her she should’ve just leave him to his wishes. But she-

She couldn’t.

She couldn’t just leave him there to die on his own.

It wouldn’t sit right with her conscience.

His arms shook as he knelt. Emerie stood and took a few steps back, blanket and knife in her hands, ready to strike if he even attempted to walk to her.

But the beast – male, she reminded herself – knelt on the ground and looked at her as if she had interrupted his slumber. Then he stood, legs shaking, to his full height.

Emerie swallowed at the sheer size of him.

And at the size of other parts of him.

Quickly she turned her eyes away and threw him the blanket.

Weakly, almost barely moving, he wrapped it around his shoulders, covering most of his body. When his legs almost gave out, it was instinct for Emerie to wrap one arm around him and support most of his body weight.

He wasn’t as heavy as she expected him to be.

They looked at each other. Accessing. Calculating.

Without another groan, the strange shape shifter let Emerie help him walk through the snow, all the way to the Illyrian camps.

***

His legs had given out completely when she reached her father’s shop.

Her shop, she reminded herself bitterly as she carried the male through the doors.

He’d fainted, she noticed. The side of her body was covered with his blood. She didn’t know what to do, where to put him. Her own legs were shaking with the effort as she carried him – or dragged him, even – upstairs where she slept. The wood groaned underneath his body and Emerie was sweating by the time she managed to plop his body rather ungraciously on the couch.

She wanted him far away from her bedroom.

The small section of the house was a small living room, a dry fireplace in one corner and a few shelves on the walls. It hadn’t always been her house. Her father used to sleep here whenever work got too much. Most nights he didn’t come home. Most nights she didn’t mind.

Some nights she did.

But those nights were now memories forever forgotten and she had no use to bring them back. Not right now.

So she watched the face of the male with cautious interest, taking in the small breaths, the motions of his chest. She placed the blanket over his body and went downstairs to get supplies.

She didn’t know why she spent the whole night tending to the male.

When the Illyrians found out…

Well.

They did not like her very much until that point. If an outsider was found in her shop…

Since when do you care what they think?

Frowning, she wiped the blood of his body. Teeth marks. Those were teeth marks. Wolves, from the look and size of them. But nothing lethal, nothing a few herbs could not heal.

She wondered why relief flooded through her at the realization. She wondered if it had been something to worry about, the calming feeling that came to her as she took care of him.

He slept and slept and did not wake.

Emerie was glad.

She was absolutely terrified.

She had never been this terrified by a male before. Apprehensive, yes. But she could always take care of herself. Knew how to wield a blade and a sword better than most warriors and knew perfectly well that if it should be necessary, she wouldn’t hesitate to kill any of them if they ever tried to land a hand on her.

But she did not know what this male was. And she was strangely afraid of the power she felt coming from him. The scent that was not purely male – but something else. Something more.

She kept her blade close. Just in case.

And she tended to him until it was morning.

He was patched up and sleeping and her floor was wiped clean. She burned perfumed leaves around the shop so his scent would be masked and she cleaned herself up and off. His scent had clung to her in a weird, parasite-way.

Business went on as usual. She didn’t sell many winter gear. She didn’t mind. She was too nervous to be dealing with unfriendly Illyrians now, anyway.

And the male slept.

He slept for three days straight.

Sometimes he would stop breathing and Emerie would think he was dead. But then she’d come close and place her ear on his chest and feel its small motions. He would survive.

She barely slept those three days. Couldn’t.

So she waited. And she watched him.

***

On the fourth day she fell asleep against her will.

She had closed the shop sooner than expected because another storm was on its way. She watched the male for a quarter of an hour and then somehow she had fallen sleep sitting on the floor, her back pressed against the wall, the burning fire warming her muscles, relaxing her mind.

***

The first thing Emerie noticed when she woke up was that she had no idea where she was.

The second thing Emerie noticed when she woke up, after coming to her senses, was that she was not on the floor, watching the male sleep.

She was on her bed.

And a blanket was on top of her, warming her.

The third thing she noticed was that her shop was eerie quiet.

The snow fell outside and clung to her windows. It was bright. The storm had gone and passed.

Emerie turned on the bed, heart beating in her throat, kicking the blanket off her and-

Her blade. It was sitting neatly on her nightstand at an arm’s length. Ready for her to take it if she pleased.

She grabbed it.

Then she moved out of her bedroom in quick, silent steps, and stood in the centre of the living room.

The male was nowhere to be seen. But his scent was everywhere. Still fresh.

She swallowed and moved downstairs quietly, knife at the ready.

She found him pacing around the shop slowly, taking notice of the clothes placed neatly on the shelves. He had a blanket around his waist – the same one she had given him – and he was passing his fingers delicately through a pair of fur gloves displayed on the counter.

She was partially hidden from view, but Emerie knew he was aware of her presence. But the male ignored her, his back turned to her.

He was either stupid or very assured of his strength. No male would dare to turn her back on her like that. No male would dare to put her to bed either, or place her blade right beside her head.

She didn’t understand him.

He was corded muscle – every inch of him. Bigger than any Illyrian she’d seen. His skin still had a pale tinge to it, but some of the colour had come back now, making her think that perhaps he hadn’t always been this light. Maybe he had once been quite tan. Her eyes traced the muscles of his back, the way they moved when he moved. Then to the strong contours of his legs underneath the blanket. His arms could crush her in an instant.

But you’re faster. Surely.

Emerie did not know why she was so afraid. So nervous. He hadn’t killed her in her sleep. Why would he do such a thing now?

They had helped each other. A favour for a favour.

“Where am I?” He asked her without turning to her.

His voice startled her. She hadn’t expected it to be so-

Lovely.

And guttural. Strong.

He healed fast, it seemed.

“The Night Court,” she said from the stairs. “One of the Illyrian camps.”

The male said nothing as he turned around and traced the shop with his eyes. She couldn’t read him. Couldn’t begin to imagine what he was thinking, what he was planning.

You made a mistake in bringing him Emerie.

She couldn’t have let him die. She couldn’t have. Reason wouldn’t have let her.

Her mother had always said she was too impulsive. That she never shut her mouth when she needed to, never behaved like they required her to behave, never acted like a proper female. She would be punished for it, her mother had said. You’ll die for it someday, she had spat.

Maybe her mother had been right all along.

She descended the stairs, chin raised high. “Why did you put me to bed?”

She made her tone unnecessarily harsh. The male blinked at her, but said simply, “Were you comfortable on that floor?”

Emerie did not thank him. She said, hostile, “When did you wake up?”

“A while ago,” he mumbled. He dragged the words out. Tired, he was still tired. And weak, she thought with relief. “I saw you. Put you to bed. Crashed again. Woke up a few minutes ago.”

She felt trapped under his gaze.

Her wings fluttered behind her in apprehension. With a tensed sigh, she folded them behind her. His eyes followed the motions, and she suddenly felt embarrassed for no reason.

“I’m not going to hurt you.”

“I’ve heard that before.”

The words had left her mouth before she could stop them. Instantly she bit her lip. But the male didn’t flinch, didn’t even react to her words. Just stared with that strange calmness of his.

She didn’t ask what he was doing in those mountains. This clearly wasn’t his territory. It looked as if he had been running from something or someone. But Emerie refrained from bringing it up. Later, she decided.

“I reckon you’re hungry,” she said to him, placing her blade on the back pocket of her pants, close enough for her to reach.

He shrugged, looking around again.

“This is my shop,” she told him. “I’m…” she hesitated, but extended a hand nonetheless. “I’m Emerie.”

The male looked taken aback by her gesture. But his hand closed around hers and it was surprisingly warm.

And soft, she thought to herself. Calloused, scarred, but soft.

Familiar.

She pulled away before he did.

He didn’t tell her his name right away, only when she raised an eyebrow at him. His worked his jaw as he said, “Tamlin.”

Tamlin.

She’d heard it before. Didn’t know exactly when or where, but-

“Well, you can go upstairs. I’ll make us some food.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Emerie watched him warily as he passed her. Their arms brushed just slightly before she said, “Oh – you can grab some clothes, if you want. Choose whatever.”

He looked over his shoulder at her. Said simply, “Thank you.”

And she repeated, “You’re welcome.”

He grabbed pants and a long sleeved shirt – and he left for upstairs.

She was sweating, she realized.

Swallowing, Emerie made her way upstairs too, turning in the other direction towards the small kitchen area where she closed the door and leaned against it.

She thought she might be running a fever.

***

Tamlin

The clothes were tight – but fit him. The small room seemed to encage him, but he did not mind it. He liked the smallness of it all. There were no big, hollow places anymore. No rooms that echoed his own, lonely voice.

He didn’t know why this female chose to help him that day.

Didn’t know why she made the decision to trust a beast on its knees.

She should’ve left him.

He was glad she hadn’t.

The realization hit him like a slap in the face – he was happy to be alive. His wound didn’t hurt him as much, and even though he still felt groggy and dizzy…there was no ache in his chest. No weight on his shoulders.

He thought he might’ve entered another dimension where pain and loneliness didn’t exist. Or maybe they did – he was just immune to them.

Tamlin thought of the female in the next room and remembered how small she had seemed in his arms. But there had been a fire in her eyes downstairs. A warning. She would not hesitate to dig that dagger into his heart – he knew it.

He’d debated with himself leaving her there on the floor. But something in him had sank at the dark circles underneath her eyes and the way her body had just slumped on the floor, her head in an uncomfortable position.

He didn’t know exactly why he’d done it in the end – she meant nothing to him. And he meant nothing to her. But she had helped him. She had carried him all the way to her home for who knew how many miles. And so he gently took her in his arms, careful and yet fascinated with the way her wings fluttered and reacted to his touch, and he placed her on her bed. He looked at her blade on the ground and simply reached for it and placed it beside her.

He had no intention of harming her and she had to know that.

I should’ve died – but I lived.

Because of her.

He’d been out of his mind that day. Winnowing to the territory of his enemy, planning to die in a fight-

Until the beasts had come to claim him. And he thought he might as well take the chance and let them destroy him.

A beast destroying a beast – it was the ending he deserved.

But then something had snapped in him as their jaws closed on his side. Something told him to get away, to run, to live.

He had changed his mind.

He had looked towards the top of that mountain and-

Tamlin frowned to himself as he sat on the couch. As he looked towards the fire.

Something in his bones had ordered him to take that climb. To reach the peak. It hadn’t been himself – he knew he couldn’t have had the strength to drag his half-limp body up through all that snow.

So he killed the beasts. He climbed to the peak.

And yet he had made it.

And she had found him.

Tamlin looked towards the kitchen again, hearing her inside.

Her wings hadn’t been the only thing that startled him.

There was something about her eyes. The dark, sharp, intent gaze she’d threw at him. The colour of them – rich, so warm. Specks of amber seemed to swim in them. Embers crackling amongst the fire.

And – I’ve heard that before.

He hadn’t failed to notice the clipped wings. He’d known Illyrians and their traditional ways but –

An Illyrian female who could not fly.

Who had done it? Tamlin wondered. Her brothers? Uncles? Father? Some other brute who got his hands on her?

There was something in his stomach, an ache. A discomfort. It wasn’t pity – Emerie left nothing to be pitied. He could feel her strength, her determination, her ruthlessness. No, she was not a female to be pitied. Tamlin knew just by the way she stood that she was as much of a warrior as any of the others.

But he still couldn’t place that nagging feeling in his gut. It felt like regret but worse.

And he knew a lot about regret.

His head fell onto his hands.

Did he deserve this second chance? No.

No, of course he did not. But now that he got it – should he make the most of it? Should he take the opportunity and…try and make it better?

He would never have Feyre.

He could never take her away from her mate. He’d known that. For every terrible word Tamlin had thrown at them he had known that, in the deepest parts of his mind, he couldn’t have acted upon it.

She would never forgive him.

And Tamlin…he understood that.

He had done terrible, unforgiving things. He had said the worse things. He did not deserve forgiveness.

He could only wish her happiness. And peace. And all the things he promised to give her but didn’t.

And for him –

For him, it was time to move on.

Take this second chance. But not for granted.

He would do better. Be better. He had to.

Or he would be just as bad as the males who had dared to take that female’s ability to fly.

Emerie walked out of the kitchen with food on a platter.

She looked at him with awareness. He didn’t expect anything else.

They ate quietly on opposite sides of the couch.

When they finished, Tamlin said, “Thank you.”

“You’ve said that already.”

“No,” Tamlin interjected. “I mean – thank you for saving my life.”

Emerie shrugged. Like she hadn’t spent almost two hours dragging his body through a storm.

“Why did you do it?” He had to ask.

She hesitated. She had lovely hair. Long and dark, curly in a way he had never seen before. Like ringlets. It suited her. “Something told me I shouldn’t leave you to die on your own.”

He said nothing.

Emerie looked towards the fire, “Seemed like a pretty sucky way to die.”

Despite himself, he let out deep laugh.

It startled him.

It startled her, too.

Maybe he was going crazy – but the way she had spoken those words sparked something in him.

Tamlin realized he didn’t remember the last time he’d laughed. Really laughed. No matter how small of a laugh that was – it was still something. He’d forgotten how he sounded like.

Emerie stared at him.

“Yes,” Tamlin said, shrugging. “It was a pretty sucky way to die.”

She didn’t smile at him. Only looked at him with that weary look in her eyes. Suspicion. She didn’t have many people in her life she trusted, Tamlin noted. Maybe she barely knew what trusting someone else was.

He could relate.

“Did you want to?” She asked, her tone firm but small. Her voice was strangely comforting. Soft. “Die, I mean.”

“Yes.”

She didn’t ask why.

Just turned around and grabbed an apple from the tray, eating it quietly. Tamlin watched her bite into it, and grabbed one himself.

He’d forgotten what fruit tasted like.

But as he bit into that apple – he remembered. He almost sighed with delight.

“Where are you from?”

“Spring.”

He saw the realization hit her.

Or more like – her suspicions being confirmed.

She eyed him. “You’re High Lord.”

“I am.”

Or was.

He had abandoned his throne, abandoned his court, his people. Had thought of nothing but himself and his own pain. (*a/n: this information is made-up, meaning that it is not a spoiler, it does not follow acofas’ storyline.)

Emerie stopped biting into her apple. Stopped chewing. “Oh.”

Oh – which meant she knew his whole ordeal.

Her eyes didn’t change once. There was no judgement, no anger, no interest – nothing. She did not care.

Tamlin found he couldn’t have been more relieved to have no person not treat him differently after what he had done.

“You’re a long way from home, High Lord.”

She was mocking him.

“Clearly.”

“It’s the first time I hear of a High Lord who doesn’t love his crown enough to stay alive.”

He stayed silent.

She said, “Were you going to perish on that mountain just because of a female?”

Tamlin looked her. He felt too weak to talk about it, but he found himself saying, “No. Not just because of her.”

“But you chose to die in her territory.”

Silence.

“To rub it in her face?”

Silence.

“Or you just hate my people and wanted to die at the hands of one of them,” Emerie concluded. Her eyes were narrowed. Clever, astute.

“You know the history of our people,” Tamlin said. Like it was a valid reason.

He had no reasons.

He just did not want to die in his own court. He felt like he hadn’t deserved even that – to be buried in the grounds he loved.

Or had once loved.

Spring had become nothing but thorns. Pain and rain. There was nothing left for him there.

Nothing left for him anywhere.

“I can do the job for you if you so insist,” Emerie said, twirling her blade on her hand.

She raised an eyebrow at him. A challenge.

Tamlin observed her.

“You wanted to die at the hands of a people you despise,” she said to him. And shrugged. “I’m an Illyrian. Born and raised. You must hate even the way I smell. How I look. Well, High Lord,” she mused, “you can just say the word.”

A test.

Tamlin looked at the blade he knew she was very much capable of using.

And sighed, lowering his head.

Emerie seemed triumphant as she lowered her blade. “You want to live.” She bit into her apple.

He was ashamed to admit it. “Yes.”

“Now’s your chance.”

Silence.

Now’s your chance.

To make things right. To change.

Tamlin looked at her as he finished his apple. “You know what I did.”

“I know some of the things you did,” she corrected. “I do not know you.”

She was refraining from judging him from simply rumours. She was giving him a chance.

He wanted to take it.

“I don’t hate your people,” he told her. “I hate your High Lord.”

“Alright.”

“And you don’t smell any different from my people,” he argued, gesturing. “Your scent is…normal. Nice.”

“Oh?”

It was true. She smelled like fresh lemon and fruits. Like burning wood and forests.

He shrugged.

Emerie shrugged too. “Well, you smell like death took a shit on you. So if you’re going to stay – you’re going to shower.”

He stared at her, blinking.

Emerie stared right back at him.

No one in his court would dare. No one would dare to speak to him like that or look at him like that. But Emerie crossed her arms over her chest, crossed one leg over the other and stared at him as if challenging him to argue.

Tamlin said, “Alright.”

“This is the first time you’ve looked anything other than dead or lunatic,” she said. “Good job, me.”

“I don’t want to impose.”

“Please,” she said. “Where are you going to go? Back to your fallen court? Also, if you step out of that door there’s a 100% chance an Illyrian is going to find your scent and kill you and then your death is going to be on my hands,” she told him. “And I’m not cool with that kind of weight on my conscience.”

“Hum.”

“So, yeah.”

She was the strangest creature he’d ever laid his eyes on.

Strangely beautiful, too.

Strangely because she looked constantly angry. Like her face didn’t other expressions. But still-

Tamlin scoffed at himself.

He had clearly been too lonely and too sad for a long time.

“Alright,” he said. “Uh, where’s-“

She pointed.

“Thanks.”

He felt her eyes on him as he got up. Never had a female’s eyes made him feel so small. Inadequate.

“You can have a change of clothes. Then you’ll wash the ones you’re wearing.”

Not a request.

Emerie paused. “I assume you know how to wash clothes,” she said and raised an eyebrow.

Tamlin scowled. No, he didn’t. But his pride swelled up. “Of course I do.”

“Great. You’ll be doing that.”

“Great.”

She gave him a sharp smile edged with sarcasm.

Tamlin turned and walked to the bathroom. It was as small as the whole house. He wouldn’t fit his whole self in the tub, but Tamlin couldn’t feel more grateful to have a bath.

He didn’t hear her as he sank into the warm water. He thought that maybe she was still sitting on the couch, a frown on her face, still attentive to every sound he made, every breath he took.

He had to think about what he was going to do about a lot of things.

But for now-

For now Tamlin let the water wash away the blood and some of the pain.

He let the flood carry away all the things he had wished he’d done.

The High Lord of Spring closed his eyes.

And hoped that he could begin to hope again.


	2. Chapter 2

Emerie 

She didn’t know when she began to trust him.

Maybe some foolish part of her had been too overconfident in his weakened state. Maybe she thought that if he was stupid enough to try something on her, he’d be too tired and weak to survive her blade.

But he had not tried to hurt her. Like he’d promised.

Not once.

Tamlin was quiet most of the time. During the day, when she was tending to her shop, Emerie would sometimes feel whenever he was awake. The birds outside seemed to still at his presence, and watch through her windows as if they were watching one of their own. And sometimes her ears would pick up the sound of him running his fingers through his hair, heavy sighs that sounded desperate and lonely. Sometimes she felt like she could hear the guilt and the pain thrumming inside him.

Emerie refused to dwell on it too much.

Her rare clients didn’t seem to mind the new smell of perfumed leaves around the shop, and Emerie was glad. They masked Tamlin’s scent perfectly so that no Illyrian, no matter how good their sense of smell was, would find a male’s scent mixed in with hers.

Winter was raging outside, so they kept the fire burning. One afternoon when they were eating on the couch next to each other – a sort of routine that they had unconsciously created – Tamlin offered to get some more wood in the early hours of morning, when the camp would still be sleeping.

“I’ll mask my scent,” he said.

“You can do that?” She asked.

Tamlin nodded, as if that much was obvious for a High Fae.

Emerie shot him a look. “Why didn’t you say so sooner? I’ve spent two whole weeks burning flowers around the shop for nothing!”

“I didn’t know,” he defended himself. “I thought it was supposed to be some kind of Illyrian ritual.”

Emerie stared at him. “You’re so dumb.”

Tamlin had never looked more offended in those few days she had known him.

It had been two long weeks.

Sometimes he woke up in the middle of the night in pain groaning and whimpering like a wounded animal, and Emerie was there tending to his wound, changing the bandages and cleaning the skin around it. It was healing slowly – much, much slower than she had expected. But he could now stand for longer than five minutes, so she took that as a good sign.

“You don’t have to do that,” he’d told her one night as the wind billowed outside. His voice was still raspy from sleep. “I can do it.”

She found herself feeling bothered by the softness in his voice. “You’ll get it infected and probably bleed all over my floor,” she’d grumbled, sleepy-eyed. “I’ll do it.”

He’d asked her, “How did you learn to do that?”

And pointed to the perfect bandage on the side of his chest as Emerie cleaned blood off her fingers with a clean cloth.

“You just have to step outside and look around,” she’d said, her tone bitter, cold. She couldn’t help it. “That’s how.”

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?” She’d asked simply, and Tamlin hadn’t answered.

It seemed it wasn’t exactly sure what he was sorry for. For keeping her up with his whining when she should be asleep? For sensing the physical and mental wounds that were curtsy of the brutality in which she had been born and brought up in?

Sometimes she caught him watching her closely. As if trying to understand her. It unnerved her, but it didn’t exactly-

Bother her.

It should have. 

Somehow, she learned to trust the High Lord during those two weeks. He would not harm her, not when she had done so much to help him. And despite everything she’d heard about the Lord of Spring, Tamlin did not appear harmful. Yes, she felt the sheer, brutal power radiating from him, the strength of his body every time he moved, but when she looked into his eyes she saw none of that.

When she looked into his eyes Emerie saw a broken male. One who lost everything and one who realized it had been all his fault. One who couldn’t bear the guilt.

So she trusted him. 

And she hoped it wouldn’t come back to bite her in the ass.

Whenever he woke in the middle of the night in pain they could never fall back asleep, and so they talked until dawn. About the war, about their peoples, about their worlds. Tamlin never talked about Feyre, and Emerie didn’t ask, though Tamlin’s eyes lightened up when he talked about his youth. How hard and dangerous it had been, as expected for a High Lord’s son, but happy, too. Emerie wondered, as she heard his voice getting distant, mixing with the fire crackling, how long it had been since he had someone to talk to.

She did not want to pity him.

Whatever he did – Tamlin was paying for it. And rightfully so. It was not her place to judge him, no. But it was not her place to ease his guilt, either.

They were pleasant conversations, if she felt kind enough to admit it. Emerie’s temper flashed from time to time, though, because he could be so…high-lord like. Entitled. Self-centered.

It set her teeth on edge.

And she could see he had a temper of his own, too, just boiling on the surface. The beast she’d seen on its knees before, dying in the snow…that beast, when unleashed, would be lethal, she knew. 

But Emerie was just as lethal. She was not afraid. She promised herself she would never be afraid again in her life.

They matched in that regard, it seemed. Two tamed beasts.

Tamlin did try to help as much as he could with whatever he could. Silly things that kept him busy like washing the dishes or cleaning the counters or organizing the clothes or volunteering to wake up at the crack of dawn to get wood for the fire. As if he wanted to prove to her that he could.

One time he offered to go hunting.

She’d laughed at him, waving a careless hand at the door, telling him that if someone or something killed him, it would not be her fault.

And the dumb bastard did go. He really did go.

She’d watched him limp out the small cabin at night, open-mouthed and slightly startled by his ignorance.

“You’ll never catch anything,” she’d shouted at him, sneering.

Tamlin had looked over his shoulder and flashed his fangs at her, “Watch me.”

She’d stared at that closed door with a frown on her face.

What did she care? What did she care?

Stupid, prideful lordling.

Let him get hurt. Let him learn.

So she’d sat on her couch and opened a book in her lap. Her eyes kept drifting to the windows from time to time, though, and she found it strange that, after only two weeks, she felt as if her cabin were now too hollow, too empty. Just because he hadn’t been there.

And she’d lived there most of her life on her own, never having felt that.

Her throat had closed up at the realization. But she’d forced her attention on the words and pretended to forget all about it.

About him.

Her foot tapped on the ground anxiously.

What the hell. What the hell.

Stop it, she’d told herself. Stop it.

She’d stared at the door again. It was insane. She couldn’t possibly miss him-

I’m not going to hurt you.

Maybe he’d gone to die. Maybe he’d tricked her. Maybe by then another beast had set his claws on him and he’d done nothing.

The thought frightened her more than she wished it did.

Also it pissed her off. After all that time, all that effort, into trying to get some damn sense into him. All that time caring for him-

Not for him. For his wounds.

She’d sighed. Got up. Looked out the window.

None of the lights were on – they couldn’t have spotted him. If she walked out now, a few hours before dawn, nobody would be able to scent her by morning.

She’d clenched her teeth.

You shouldn’t have brought him here, Emerie.

She called herself an idiot for the hundredth time as she walked to the door, and opened it-

Just in time to see Tamlin reaching her cabin, bloody, covered in frost, a dead deer on his shoulders. She was glad for the storm that would cover the blood stains on the dirty, snowy ground.

She stared at him.

His knees wobbled. “I told you,” he rasped out.

“Get inside. Now. Before someone sees you.”

What the hell. What the hell, she was so relieved.

She was so fucking relieved.

Tamlin went inside, placing the deer on the counter.

He sank to his knees.

“Tamlin,” she blurted out as she came to his side, trying to catch him before he hit the ground.

Mother above. He was cold, so cold. “Tamlin,” she repeated, wrapping her arms around his middle. “Hold yourself up, you bison-looking, idiot High Lord-“

One of his hands reached for the staircase, holding himself up on the railing. He was struggling to keep his eyes opened. “No need to thank me,” he drawled.

“Thank you?” Her voice sounded shrill even to her as Emerie helped him up the stairs. “You left a gods-damned animal bleeding on my counters, now you’re bleeding on my floor and I should thank you?”

“You do love this floor, don’t you, Emerie?”

She paid no attention to his delusional talk. Couldn’t. Because in the back of her mind, the same words repeated themselves over and over and over: this wound should have healed by now this wound should have healed by now he should have been alright by now he-

Instead of the couch, Emerie led him to the bathroom. They almost didn’t fit there together. But she sat him on the edge of the bathtub and could only hope that he wouldn’t fall over.

He looked like death.

“You wasted all your energy in the glamour you put on yourself,” she grumbled, opening the tap of hot water. “And you’re frozen. You could’ve died.”

“What’s it to you?”

“What’s it to me?”

They stared at each other. Their knees were touching, her body closer to his than it had ever been before.

Emerie’s heart was beating in her throat. For a second, she thought she might faint.

“Take off your clothes,” she said, swallowing hard. “Let me see the wound.”

She helped him out of his shirt since he could barely move.

And breathed a sigh of relief when she found that it wasn’t bleeding much. He’d tore a bit at the skin, but nothing major. He was just exhausted.

“You said my name,” he said out of the blue, as she examined the cut.

She looked up at him, leaning her head back, startled by how close their faces were. Tamlin didn’t blink.

“What?”

“You said my name.”

“You’re an idiot,” she shot back, turning her eyes away.

He didn’t scowl. The bastard had a strange, stupid expression on his face – like something close to a smile on his lips. Emerie pretended she wasn’t affected by those green eyes studying her face, trailing across her jaw and lips.

“You didn’t have to go,” she scolded, gently ripping the bandage off his abdomen. “You’re just a dick, Tamlin. I don’t give a shit what you can or cannot do so don’t go around trying to prove yourself. I don’t care.”

“What’s your problem?” He asked her, cocking his head to the side, confused.

She pulled back, closing the tap. “My problem is that you could have been seen. My problem is that if that were the case, they would kick me out of my own territory. The problem is that I hate this floor,” she kicked at it. “And now I have to clean it again because of your stupid pride and foolishness.”

Tamlin furrowed his eyebrows.

His eyes flashed to her. And Emerie had to turn hers away, her arms crossing against her chest, her cheeks flushed.

“Why are you staring at me like that?” She snarled, her wings fluttering behind her in annoyance and impatience.

Tamlin watched that too. Nothing seemed to escape his attention.

He said, “Because you’re not telling me the truth.”

“Because you’re not telling me the truth,” she mocked. “Then what’s the truth, blondie?”

His lips twitched. “You know I couldn’t have been spotted or scented. No one saw me. My glamour made sure of it. You know I’ll clean the damn floor, that’s not a problem.” And then he placed a hand on the sink and he was lifting himself up and Emerie couldn’t breathe when he looked at her like that. Couldn’t. “So what is truly the problem here? Why are you so bothered?”

“I’m not bothered.”

“You’re scared,” he said. “I can practically smell it off you. Your heart is beating as if you’ve just run up a mountain and back.”

Her wings and the back of her head touched the door as he took one step towards her. Tamlin watched her feet move and stayed where he was.

“Emerie?”

She knew it.

She knew it was a bad sign when he was still the most beautiful male she had ever seen even when he was covered in blood.

She knew it, and she still did not move.

She did not move out of the bathroom when he took a tentative step towards her.

He was not holding himself up well – his body was weak, his breath catching in his throat. But he still took that step and he still stared at her as if he were in a dream.

He stared at her as if he had never seen her before.

And, for once in her life, Emerie did not have the words. She did not have anything in herself left to sting, any remarks or sharp replies.

His eyes were alight.

“You said my name,” he repeated.

“So?” She mumbled.

“It sounds strange when you say it.”

Emerie’s breath hitched when he placed a gentle hand, caked with blood, on the door next to her face. Close to her wing.

“Maybe you are too dumb to notice,” she whispered, trying hard to form the words in her mouth. “But we don’t speak the same way.”

“It’s not just your accent.”

“I’ve said your name countless times.”

“Not like that.”

“Like what?”

He hesitated. Smiled. Emerie was falling. “Tam-lin.”

She frowned, looking anywhere but at him. She couldn’t meet those eyes. “So how are you supposed to say it, High Lord?”

“Tam-lin.”

“That just sounds wrong.”

“You’re right,” he said. And pulled away.

But when he did, his hand accidentally grazed the membrane of her wing, and it all went to hell.

Emerie shuddered, her wing darting out on its own and flinging shampoo bottles into and out of the tub. Just a graze of his thumb and her core was on fire, her whole body burning with need.

She gasped, swallowing it all down.

Tamlin stared at her, “I’m so-“

She hid her wings behind her, “Don’t do that.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

“What-“

“They’re sensitive,” she explained quickly, her cheeks burning.

“Like ticklish?”

She paused. “Yes,” she said, trying to keep her voice even. “…ticklish.”

Silence.

“Emerie-“

“Wash up,” she ordered. “I’ll prepare the deer. Then you can go and wipe that blood of yours off my gods-damned floor.”

She turned around and gripped the door handle.

It was soft, the way he touched her.

Emerie almost jumped out of her skin. She hesitated before turning to him, her eyes narrowed and bones feeling like lava. She looked down at the way Tamlin opened her hand with his, and she suddenly forgot how breathing worked.

She couldn’t think.

Or look away.

As he traced the palm of her hand with his finger, memorizing the lines, the harsh and soft edges of her skin. She was much darker in comparison to him, but the contrast was beautiful and it made her stop and stare.

They were as different as they could be.

Tamlin looked as if he couldn’t stop what he was doing. Couldn’t do anything but look absolutely mesmerized by her.

She couldn’t bear it. She couldn’t handle how much she wanted his touch.

It was clear that her own loneliness was getting the better of her. And Tamlin was in no state-

She pulled her hand out of his grasp. “The water will get cold.”

And walked away.

***

Tamlin

It was not normal.

That pull towards her. That…that urge to move closer to her whenever she was around.

He’d been alone for too long. Rightfully so – he’d deserved every single moment of despair, clinging to lost memories in the corridors of his ruined, thorn-filled Manor. He’d deserved it.

But in the two weeks he’d been there, Tamlin felt a strange peacefulness overcome him. There was still that discomfort in the bottom of his stomach every time he remembered. Every time he thought of her name.

But Tamlin’s heart no longer hurt. There wasn’t any part of him that wished to cling to an impossible dream.

He’d lost his chance. And strangely…he’d been alright with it.

It’s been two years, he told himself. You should move on.

But did he deserve to?

Did he want to?

Truthfully, he did. He did want to feel like that again. He wanted the touch of someone warm and he wanted to drive the clouds of snow and freezing rain away.

Two weeks ago, he’d thought he’d be better off dead. That his people did not need him and were fine ruling themselves. Two weeks ago, he’d thought there wasn’t anything else in this world making him cling to the fragile, ruined rope that was his life.

So what was it now? What was it that he clung to now?

To Emerie?

It was not normal. The strange brightness and liveliness of his heart when he’d seen how he’d made her feel just minutes before, the erratic beating of her heart, the parting of her mouth when he came close-

Foolish, foolish. He’d been foolish to watch her take care of him and marvel at the skilled fingers as they wrapped clean cloth around his chest after rubbing some homemade herbal medicine on his skin with quick expertise. He’d been foolish to notice every intriguing detail about her.

She was so interesting.

Her eyes were the most enchanting colour he’d ever seen – deep brown so rich it made all the colours in nature seem muted in comparison. Her hair – so curly and so dark against her tan skin reminded him of swirls of sink, spilling over her shoulders down to her waist.

He was a gods-damned fool.

But he’d wanted to take that step, lean down and learn if she tasted as sweet as she looked. Wanted to feel her breath catch in her throat as his hands roamed her sides. Wanted to hear that voice whisper his name in his ear as her hands clung to him like he clung to her.

He’d been depraved of a kind touch for too long.

Way too fucking long.

Two weeks. And he’d forgotten to remember Feyre.

And when he did-

When he did, there was no longer a deadly ache inside his chest. There was that peacefulness he did not deserve.

Have I paid enough for what I did?

Can I breathe now?

Can I love now?

She was happy with her mate. The last thing he’d heard about them is that they’d gotten married. A private ceremony, just them and their family, nothing and no one there to mess it up.

Tamlin had thrown his invitation to the fire.

He regretted that, too. Part of him wished he’d gone and properly apologized. Part of him wished that…

That he’d tried at least to make things right. Better.

But his pride hadn’t let him.

Emerie was right. He was a prideful fool.

Emerie.

Gods. Even her name sent him shivering in the hot water. Tamlin ran his fingers through his hair, staring at the dark ceiling. He couldn’t help but wonder if her little outburst from before had something to do with her worrying for him.

He worried for her, too.

Worried every time he heard the little doorbell downstairs, every time he felt her breath hitch or her heart quicken whenever there was a male in her store. And from all their night talks, Emerie had never told him what had happened to her wings, who had done it, what had made them do it. She’d never opened up about her childhood like he had, hadn’t even mentioned her family.

He couldn’t blame her. He hadn’t given her much of his mind, either – but with good reason. His mind was chaos. His mind was red tainted waters that never seemed to sit still. And, truthfully, Tamlin was scared. He was scared that if she became aware of everything he’d done that she’d…

She’d just hate him like everybody else.

And maybe he deserved that, too.

He began to hope. Slowly, day by day, she’d made flowers grow in his heart.

And for a while, the thorns hadn’t seemed so sharp.

He didn’t know what to do. Didn’t know if she would even want him like that.

Maybe it’d been just lust for her. Maybe he’d gotten it all wrong, and maybe her heart hadn’t responded to his.

He’d cleaned the floor, like he said he would. He ate quietly, avoiding her stare like she avoided his, and then he rested his back on the couch and closed his eyes.

For the third night in a row, Tamlin dreamt of dark wings.

***

Emerie

Two nights later, Tamlin had a fever.

He wouldn’t wake up, not even when Emerie’s hand collided with his cheek. He growled weakly in his sleep, sweat covering his forehead. And Emerie’s chest became impossibly tight when she’d ripped at his shirt and bandage and saw his infected wound.

It couldn’t be.

The herbs, they should’ve…

“Tamlin,” she called. “Tamlin.”

He was shaking, breathing hard.

Emerie’s bones were trembling as she made her way downstairs and burned some leaves, closing the curtains and locking the door. She grabbed what she needed and then she made her way upstairs.

“Tamlin,” she whispered, watching him. His lips had a strange blue tint to them, his face drained of colour. If he’d looked like death the other night then this…

This was death.

She kneeled beside him and touched his cheek. Her heart slammed in her chest as his skin burned hers. “Tamlin,” she repeated. “You have to wake up.”

She didn’t know when she’d started crying. She only noticed when her tears fell on his cheeks, one by one, sliding off his burning skin. He’d been fine. He’d been just fine the night before-

“You have to,” she murmured, staring at him. “You can’t…”

Emerie looked at his wound, inspecting it. It was swollen, the skin around the bites and cuts an angry red, the veins under it pitch black.

Whatever bit him was carrying poison – it hadn’t been some ordinary wolf. She knew it had to be something else. He would’ve healed in no time at all-

Tamlin would not last until morning.

She touched both of his cheeks, and made a decision. Steadying herself, calming herself down, Emerie whispered to him, “I will be back for you. Hold on.”

His lip quivered, as if he were cold.

She had to do it. It was the only way.

“Now,” she said, her voice forcefully calm as she swallowed back the tears. “You will fight it.”

She grabbed blankets. Knew they would do nothing to keep him comfortable, but Emerie had a long journey ahead of her.

“You will not die,” she snarled, pulling the blankets over him. “Not like this,” she rasped out, her throat closing. “Don’t you dare, lordling. I will crawl through hell and drag you back by your hair, you hear me?”

She finished placing the blankets on him and watched his face. She said to him, “You can’t die on me now, Tamlin.”

Not now.

Not ever.

Emerie clutched her heart and touched his cheek. “I will come back for you,” she repeated. “Wait for me.”

Tamlin did not move. His breathing did not slow.

Emerie packed her things quickly, wiping her tears with the back of her sleeve. It would be alright. He would be alright. He had to be.

She would make sure he lived.

With another look at him, promising herself that it would not be the last, Emerie ran downstairs. She exited the door, locking it up behind her, and made her way to the dense forest ahead.

She left her heart left behind in that cabin, and ventured into the bleak darkness of winter.

***

Tamlin

The world was nothing but darkness and fire and pain.

Tamlin knew he was dreaming.

But his usual nightmares didn’t hunt him. This one…it was different. Clearer.

A dagger was digging itself onto his side, making his way into his heart, and Tamlin couldn’t rid himself of it. The sky was crimson red, the same colour that painted his hands.

He thought of dark brown eyes and searched for peace in a place where there was none.

Peace did not find him.

Not even when he heard the words. Her voice. Soft, familiar. A spark of warmth and colour and light amongst the darkness.

“Wait for me.”

He forced himself to tell her. He forced himself to form the words on his mouth.

Let me go.

Just let me go.

But the words never left his mouth and peace never found him.

Peace would never find him.

Wait for me.

Tamlin

Emerie.

Wait for me.

I will wait for you.

Tamlin waited – and Emerie did not come.

Emerie

She’d managed to reach him in time.

Somehow.

Her limbs were frozen, her bones and muscles strained to move, but she managed. Somehow she managed.

Emerie had no idea where the strength to haul him into the cold water on the bathtub came from, but she managed that too.

His clothes were not easy to rip, but they were off and Tamlin was heaving when she dropped more ice into the water.

“You will be alright,” she kept repeating, as if she were trying to convince herself of that.

She set up her couch as Tamlin cooled in the bathtub. Emerie could not believe her relief when she’d found him still breathing – barely, but breathing – though his wound was much, much worse.

She’d taken a couple of hours.

Please please be alright.

“Tamlin,” she tried again as she watched him in the water. Dipping her hand in it, she flinched at the freezing bite on her skin, but gently, so carefully, she wiped his cheeks, touching his forehead.

He seemed to breathe a sigh of relief.

He hadn’t woken up.

If it had been a struggle to get him in, it was a battle to get him out – freezing and slippery wet, but Emerie eventually laid him down on the couch again, wiping gently at his skin with gentle strokes. She was pleased to find he’d cooled down slightly.

As she worked, she talked to him.

She told him everything.

Everything.

Because she couldn’t believe he could die without knowing all those things about her. Because she couldn’t believe he may still very much die in her arms. Because talking to him was the only way to keep herself calm and collected, the only way to stop her from sinking into the floor.

“So they clipped me,” she continued, her voice shaking as she cleaned his wound again. Despite that, her hands were steady. “And you know what’s most fucked up?”

He didn’t answer her. Of course not. He wasn’t listening.

Tamlin’s lips were parted, his breathing calmer, steadier. Emerie wiped her wet cheeks with her dirty sleeves, trying to avoid her tears from falling into his wounds. Choking on a humourless laugh, she said, “My mother encouraged them. Her orders.”

She shook her head to herself, trying not to remember and failing. The pain. Her screams.

“My sister,” she murmured. “My sister deserted. Ran off with a male. My brothers managed to track her down and clipped her on the spot. Her male was killed.”

Tamlin let out a strained breath.

“I’m sorry,” she said, her touch becoming much gentler. “I’m sorry. You’re in pain, I know. Stop being a baby.”

She sniffed, moving to grab the herbal tonics she’d previously made, and then proceeded to drop some directly into his wound. Tamlin barely flinched. “They blamed her for it – everyone in the camps. They turned her into an outsider. Rejected her. She’d barely reached maturity,” Emerie told him, massaging the liquid into his wound. “Her own family, too. My wings hadn’t even fully grown and I saw my own sister throw herself off a cliff,” Emerie swallowed, but forced herself to continue. “I tried to save her but I-“

The world was silent when she spoke the words. “I failed her.”

Emerie grabbed the wildflowers she’d gone to find. There hadn’t been many, as expected, but Emerie had managed to grab what she could. Her grandmother had once told her – it had been so long ago, Emerie felt like it had been a dream – that the flowers that grew in the Northwest Mountains of Illyria, the mountains where the sun hid behind before the stars came out to play, had the power to heal any wound – even the most brutal of wounds.

Emerie prayed to all the gods she didn’t believe in that it would work for poison too.

She’d never been a believer. But after finding those flowers in the bleak mid-winter, buried underneath piles and piles of snow…

That had to be a blessing. A miracle.

First, she placed a pot on the fireplace, making sure to open the windows so Tamlin’s temperature wouldn’t rise up again. And then she boiled water, burned the leaves – lilac and magenta, just like her grandmother had described – and finally dipped them onto the water.

“Only when they’re scalding do you take them out, Emerie,” her grandmother had said. “And then you place it over your wound.”

“Scalding?”

“It will burn, yes, but it will heal.”

Emerie hoped she was right.

She really did hope.

And for the first time in her life, she prayed.

“I couldn’t save her,” she repeated, bringing the pot close to the couch and, with a spoon, she collected the leaves. “But I will save you.”

She placed them gently over his wound.

Tamlin’s body seemed to twist at the pain, but Emerie held his cheeks. “Stop, it’s okay,” she murmured. “Tamlin, it’s okay.”

The growl he let loose wasn’t entirely Fae. She saw him lift a hand.

His claws were out.

Emerie pinned his wrists down. “Tamlin,” she said. “It’s me. Stop.”

Even unconscious, he was strong. Too strong for her. So Emerie dug her nails onto his skin, her wings enveloping his body. And she spoke softly, so softly. “It will be alright,” she murmured closed to his ear. “It’s me. You will be alright.”

Please let him be alright.

Surprisingly, Tamlin stopped struggling.

Emerie breathed a tired sigh of relief.

She watched his face change.

His mouth was no longer set in a sneer, his fangs were not visible, and when Emerie looked down, his claws retracted.

No sign of the beast.

She let him go.

And looked at his wound, adjusting the leaves accordingly.

She felt like sinking against the wall, closing her eyes and sleeping for the rest of her days. But Emerie sat on the floor next to him and watched his face. His breathing calmed now, his face peaceful.

Emerie let herself rest her head on the good side of his chest, and traced his features with her eyes. She felt sorry, all of a sudden. Sorry for the strange silence that had enveloped them both after that day in the bathroom. Sorry that she couldn’t have talked to him right in the aftermath of it all.

She didn’t know what was happening to her heart.

Why he seemed to hold it with both hands. This stranger who wasn’t a stranger.

Why his presence felt so right and familiar and good. She didn’t understand it. Didn’t want to understand it.

Why it was so vital to her that he lived.

Emerie knew it wasn’t just because of Ala. Ala had been dead for almost forty years. And though her heart still clenched at the thought of her sister, what they had done to her-

This was different.

Her heart was tied to him.

She was terrified of it.

Emerie parted her lips as she eyed his sleeping figure. And then she spoke against his chest, as if she was carrying on an unhappy tale that had never been interrupted. “So then – then when my wings were grown, they took the flying away from me.”

A strand of fair hair clung to his forehead. Emerie leaned in and gently pulled it away. She rested her head back against his chest, bringing her knees to her chest. “They didn’t want me to become like my sister, you see. So they clipped me. So I couldn’t fly. So I couldn’t get away. So I couldn’t leave here.”

Silence.

“That’s me,” she said to him. “Sorry I didn’t tell you before. Sorry if you don’t care.”

He was still warm. So warm.

Emerie felt comforted by his steady breathing, by the gentle rising of his chest underneath the side of her head. She felt her eyes close. Her last thought was that she couldn’t let herself fall asleep – she had to keep an eye on him. 

The sun was rising outside when Emerie began to dream of familiar green eyes.

***

Tamlin

He awoke to bright sunlight. Afternoon sunlight.

The light cut through his face as Tamlin opened his eyes with difficulty. The first thing he felt was freezing cold and the second-

Warmth.

He looked down.

Emerie.

Her hair spilled over his chest, her body contorted on its side, her head resting on his chest. One of her hands was resting on his arm, the other was wrapped around her middle as if trying to shield her from the cold.

His head hurt.

But nothing else hurt.

For a few, disoriented seconds, Tamlin stared at her pretty sleeping face – at the parted lips, the long, dark lashes that kissed her cheeks. And then his eyes trailed over her wings, on that draped on his middle like a blanket, warm and soft, the other wrapped around her side.

His heart awakened.

His stomach twisted in an unfamiliar, unsettling feeling.

And an emotion so, so powerful overcame him a second later, something so strong and unyielding and unending that almost sent him gasping. Something that sent chills all over his body, from his head to the tips of his toes, something like an electric current from a thunder storm, something like catching yourself falling out of the skies, suspended mid-air, with nothing to break your fall. Something like-

Emerie opened her eyes and suddenly he was staring at the most beautiful colour the world had ever created.

Nothing else mattered.

She stared at him, slowly blinking the sleep from her eyes.

“You’re awake,” she whispered.

“I’m awake,” he whispered.

She smiled for him.

Something like love.

Emerie peeled herself off him, wings folding behind her.

He couldn’t stop staring.

She rubbed her eyes slowly and looked at his wound then. Tamlin forced himself to look, as well, and realized with not that much interest that he was naked.

But his wound – there were only faint scars now. He dragged a hand over it and felt a soreness in his muscle but other than that…nothing.

“Emerie.”

She smiled wider. She looked relieved. And so happy.

Gods. Gods.

Emerie looked between his wound and his face and – he’d never seen her smile, he realized. He wasn’t prepared for it. He was not prepared for it.

He touched her cheek and her smile slowly subdued. Touching her felt like erasing every fear from his mind.

“How?” He breathed.

“Does it matter?”

What had she done.

“Yes,” he said. And dropped his hand.

“I didn’t kill anyone for it and neither did I do some batshit crazy witchcraft if that’s what you mean,” she crossed her arms, in the way that she always did – with that stubborn look in her eyes, a slight pout. Tamlin thought about kissing that pout away. “It’s not some weird Illyrian ritual, either.”

“I wasn’t thinking that.”

“Of course you weren’t.”

He looked her over. She was shaking.

“You’re freezing,” he said. Tamlin looked around and noticed the two small windows opened and the fire non-existent. She’d slept on the floor for the whole night – or day, more like it.

Without thinking, he got up and closed the windows, then moved swiftly to make the fire. Emerie watched him, and Tamlin barely noticed any pain in his muscles – though he felt dizzy, he felt better than he had in months. Emerie stayed silent, sitting on the edge of the couch, a pot filled with cold water next to her on the floor, and blankets thrown carelessly on the floor.

Then he remembered he was naked.

She offered him the blanket silently, turning her eyes away.

“Thanks,” Tamlin said, wrapping the blanket around him, though he couldn’t care less about modesty when there was such a strange smell around.

“What’s-“

He noticed the colourful leaves on the floor, dropped and forgotten, and some more on that pot.

Tamlin started. “Where did you get those?”

Emerie looked him over once more. “It was the only thing that would keep you alive.”

“Emerie.”

She sighed. “Northwest Mountains. Near the border.”

He sat on the couch. “You went there in the middle of the night and came back.”

She stayed silent.

“You could’ve died,” Tamlin almost choked on the words. “Why would you endanger yourself like that?”

Emerie widened her already big eyes slightly, staring at him.

His blood was boiling. His heart was racing. He couldn’t imagine-

“It was snowing last night, I remember the snow before I passed out,” he said. “You went to the mountains where I got this in the first place,” he pointed at his wound. “In the middle of the night?”

Emerie swallowed. “You were dying.”

“You should’ve let me die,” he snarled.

Emerie looked as if she had been slapped.

She got up, wrapping a blanket around herself. Turning her back on him, she looked out the window to the white, snowy fields. The storm had passed. Bright sunlight filled the camps. Yet her heart had never felt colder.

“Do you know, Tamlin,” she murmured. “Why you weren’t healing?”

He went silent.

Emerie lowered her eyes. “It wasn’t just because of the poison,” she said, her voice equally low. She turned to him. “You weren’t healing because you didn’t want to heal.”

He shook his head. “How did you manage to bathe me?”

Emerie scoffed, rolling her eyes. “You don’t listen. You never fucking listen-“

“I do listen,” Tamlin clenched his teeth as he lifted himself off the couch. “I do listen. I listened yesterday.”

Emerie started. “What.”

“I heard everything. I heard your voice,” he said. He remembered it too, her crying. How it’d torn him apart, even in that fragile place he was – between living and dying, between conscious and unconscious. His voice lowered. “I heard it all.”

Emerie bit her lip. She shook her head and turned back around. “Well,” she mumbled, hugging the blankets tighter around herself. Tamlin heard her opening and closing her mouth, trying to come up with a response. He watched her back, her wings adjusting beneath the blanket.

“I heard you, Emerie,” he whispered.

Her head turned slightly – like she was fighting not to look at him.

“I heard you say it,” Tamlin continued. “I heard you telling me to wait for you.”

“And still – you wished I had done nothing.”

He paused. “I am grateful,” he said carefully. “I am. But I-“

He took a step forward and Emerie looked at him warily. He stayed planted where he was, the blanket hanging pathetically on his waist.

“I can’t have you risking your life for me like this.”

“It was my choice.”

“It was because of me.”

“Why does it matter, Tamlin?” She said, suddenly angry, suddenly frowning at him. “What does it matter?” Tamlin watched her near him, her steps harsh. She looked up at him, dropping the blanket abruptly on the floor. “You’re alive. Can’t you see how fortunate you are? Can’t you see how lucky you got that I managed to find those gods-damned flowers? I didn’t even fucking know they existed until I found them,” she snapped. Tamlin watched as her wings flared behind her in anger. “I thought they were stories.”

“You can’t-“

“No,” she snarled at him. “You,” and pointed a finger at his chest, “cannot tell me what I can or cannot do. I don’t give you that right. You kept bleeding because you couldn’t even let yourself to want to be saved. Your body was fighting to stay alive and you were just begging for it to stop. Why? Why would you want to die, Tamlin?”

She was crying.

“There’s enough death in this world,” she said. “In my world.”

“Em-“

“You were barely breathing,” she panted, unable to stop the panicked tears. Tamlin briefly wondered how long it had been since she cried. Since she had someone to comfort her. “I was supposed to let you die? You’re selfish, Tamlin.”

He stared at her.

“You have your people counting on you,” she spat. “Your Court. You have people that care for you, whether you believe it or not. Your soldiers, your servants, your people love you. And you want to just perish? I won’t let you,” Emerie said.

He touched her forearms gently.

“I won’t let you,” she sobbed.

Tamlin pulled her close.

His face was buried in her hair, hers was buried on his chest and he felt her heart beating against his, so painfully hard.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered against her. “I couldn’t bear-“

To his surprise, Emerie let herself be held by him. Her tears slid down his chest as he held her.

Tamlin forced himself to be brave enough to say the words.

She had to know.

“I couldn’t bear you getting hurt because of me.”

“Stupid High Lord.”

Despite himself, Tamlin smiled slightly. “Emerie.”

She pulled back to stare at him.

Fresh tears in her eyes, sliding down her cheeks, that Tamlin gently wiped away. “Thank you,” he whispered. “I’m so grateful to you. For everything.”

Emerie shook her head at him. “You need to realize something, Tamlin,” she said, hands against his chest. Holding her felt like holding the whole wide world in his arms. “Whatever you did – you deserve to live. You deserve a chance at this life. Nothing is ever lost. Not really. Knowing you like I have, this past month – I can assure you that you deserve it. Let yourself heal, please. Let yourself live and enjoy living. Life doesn’t have to end at the edge of a cliff. You can always turn back and make things right.”

Her hand was on his cheek, and when her thumb caressed his skin he realized she was wiping a stray tear away.

Emerie watched him. She lowered her eyes but her hand stayed on his cheek. She hesitated before she whispered, “I know I’m not the one you want.”

You’re wrong.

“I’m still here,” she said. “If you need me.”

The fire crackled behind them. The night was approaching, swift and cold and unforgiving. But also calm in its gentle winds, peaceful in its freezing corners.

“I don’t need anybody else,” Tamlin said.

Emerie blinked.

“Not anybody else,” he repeated, moving his hands to her waist. “Emerie.”

Her eyes fluttered closed at hearing her name.

Tamlin couldn’t remember why the world had seemed such a sad, empty place.

“I need you.”

And for all her insults, Emerie looked up and stared at him with a tenderness he’d never seen. An intensity he found nowhere else. He could drown in the warmth of her eyes, slowly swept away by the way her lips parted as she observed his face.

“You don’t need me.”

“You’re wrong.”

Emerie dropped her hand to rest on his heart. Tamlin could feel the air chance between them. “I want you,” she murmured, tracing delicate shapes on his skin, burning him, marking him.

Tamlin wanted every part of her.

The words echoed through him like an astounding symphony, never to leave his head again. They played in his mind, in the chords of his heart, each sound punctuating a note within him.

He was alive.

“You want me,” he repeated, whispering.

Tamlin watched her swallow, watched her watching him. Emerie whispered, “Yes,” and again, “Yes.”

And Tamlin kissed her.

***

Emerie

He tasted like home.

Familiar, warm, safe. Like nothing she’d ever felt before, like nothing she’d ever known before.

And it was gentle, sweet, brief. Tamlin touched his lips to hers like they had all the time in the world and more, like there wasn’t anything else to do.

She opened her mouth to him and found her knees shaking when Tamlin tasted her.

He was warm. Scalding.

Emerie let her hands drag up his chest, his neck, to wrap around his shoulders, pulling him closer, until there was no space left between their bodies.

It felt like coming home.

Having his body against hers – like she’d done it before. In a dream. In another lifetime.

He pulled away slowly, though he didn’t part with her. His arms snaked around her waist, caressing her back beneath the wings. Tamlin kept her pressed against him, each part of him feeling each part of her, and his eyes didn’t open. Emerie watched him lick his lips, just briefly, just before leaning down again and touching his lips to the corner of her mouth.

She was breathless.

She had never felt anything so gentle and soft in her life.

His lips were velvet memorizing her mouth.

Small, gentle kisses on each corner of her mouth. Tentative. Testing.

Her knees buckled again when he kissed her fully, nose bumping gently against hers, but Tamlin held her upright. She felt frozen in place, somehow between melting and taut, willing herself to do kiss him back. But the way Tamlin kept leaving small little kisses on her mouth, taking his time, made her want to see stars; made her think of nothing at all but the feel and taste of him.

“Tamlin.”

He smiled against her mouth, pulling away to say, “The first time I heard you say my name I wanted to kneel.”

She gasped when his hand slid up her back, caressing the costal part of her wing. “I love these,” he said against her cheek.

He touched her with no hurry. Like he wanted to make every moment count.

She wanted to make it count.

That’s why she trailed her hands down his chest, careful with his scar, and touched the blanket. Looking up at him, she asked him silently for permission before dropping the blanket onto the floor.

She kissed him.

Emerie suddenly felt strangely self-conscious of how unexperienced she was at that. There had been lovers, though not many, and definitely not impressive enough to leave her wanting more. But Tamlin didn’t seem to notice as he popped open a button of her shirt.

“Emerie.” A question in his voice.

She understood. “I trust you,” she said against his cheek.

She led him to her bedroom.

The bed was small, and it would be a struggle to fit them both, but Emerie didn’t care. Not as Tamlin sat down and touched the back of her legs, fingers caressing her skin over her pants, tracing every muscle, every bit of her. She shivered when the back of his hand grazed the tip of her wing.

He looked over at her curiously.

Just before he slid his hands up her backside – and squeezed.

Against her will, Emerie let out a startled laugh that made him smile. Tamlin then moved his hands to her front, undoing the laces of her trousers. Emerie watched him.

“Are you sure?”

She made a face at him. “Are you serious?” And smirked.

Tamlin raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“I know you can sense it.”

Her want.

Could probably detect it in her scent, too.

But Tamlin’s fingers stopped at her waist. “Still. I wouldn’t carry on if you hadn’t spoken the words.”

Emerie looked him over for a second. And then she said, “Hm.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you’re the first male who’s asked that.”

He gave her a look. “It shouldn’t be that way.”

“No, it shouldn’t.”

Emerie undid her own trousers, letting them fall to the ground. And then she was climbing onto his lap, pushing him down onto the bed.

She smiled. “Are you alright?”

Because he looked dizzy. A smile she’d never seen before graced his features. Emerie wondered if there were more smiles of Tamlin still to discover.

Taking advantage of her distraction, Tamlin flipped them on the bed. Emerie stared up at him, eyebrows raised. He smile at her, “Better.”

And kissed her.

Her breath escaped her lungs as soon as his lips collided with hers, as soon as she felt the evidence of his wanting against her hip. Tamlin undressed her slowly, his lips following his hands, and Emerie found herself clinging to everything she could reach – her sheets, her pillow, his hair – when his mouth explored the space between her legs.

She realized he particularly liked the inside of her thighs by the way his teeth dragged over her skin, gently, so gently, barely a graze, a teasing, sort of playful smile painted on his mouth just before he kissed her most tender part.

Emerie could barely handle the way his tongue moved against her, let alone his fingers caressing her. His movements were slow, too slow, his lips resting against her abdomen, coated with her essence, as his fingers worked on her. She’d never felt anything like it.

And when she shattered, Tamlin buried his face on her neck, pestering her skin with soothing kisses.

She bit her pillow to stifle her moans and ended up ripping it up completely, her nails dragging over his shoulder as Tamlin dragged himself against her centre. Again and again.

Until she was literally clawing at him. Tamlin smiled crookedly and finally gave her what she wanted. What they both needed.

He kissed her as they moved together, slow and gentle, like the snow falling outside. Emerie’s wings strained on her back as her legs tightened around his waist. It didn’t take long for her to fall off that edge once more.

Tamlin followed soon after, resting his face against her chest.

She breathed hard against him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders, letting him stay close to her. There was no end and no beginning. No such things as time and places. No such things as titles and courts and divisions and differences.

Tamlin held her close and let his mouth caress the place between her breasts.

He’d almost roared. Emerie had to place a hand on his mouth to try and make him silent – when that didn’t work, she’d kissed him hard, until he was groaning into her mouth.

She hadn’t realized how beautiful her name sounded when it came from his lips.

“Tamlin,” she said.

“Em.”

She frowned. “When did you decide to start calling me that?”

“Since now.”

Emerie looked down at him.

Tamlin smirked from between her breasts. “You hate it?”

She shrugged. She loved it. It made her want to push him onto his back and-“No one has ever called me that before.”

He smiled, as if in triumph, and let his nose drag over her skin.

“You wanted to ask me something,” He reminded her, smiling against her skin.

Right.

“Tell me about it.”

He looked up at her, knowing what she meant.

His face fell.

“If you want,” she added, twisting on the bed onto her side. Tamlin followed her, the bed so small they had to be against each other to fit.

Neither of them was complaining.

“I want to,” he said. As if he’d just realized it.

“I’m here to listen,” she told him, resting her head on his arm.

Tamlin looked conflicted, even frightened. But then he drew a breath and he told her everything.

It took a long time. Tamlin told her the story about him and the High Lord of the Night Court – how a friendship had dissolved into nothing. He told her about Amarantha. He recalled the curse she had set on the Prythian lands. She remembered it clearly, though she couldn’t have imagined the havoc that went down Under the Mountain.

Tamlin told her about Feyre.

How he’d fallen in love, how he’d fallen out of love.

Every mistake – set out on the table, for her to see. Clean cards, no tricks.

She watched him talk and saw the shadows in his clear eyes. Saw the guilt, the anger, the shame. Saw the good and the bad and the worst. She saw the goodness. Saw his willingness to repeal all the things that had haunted him for hundreds of years.

Saw in him his willingness to change.

“Do you still love her?”

She felt childish for asking. Especially after what they had just done. But the question wouldn’t leave her mind and she wanted – she needed – to know.

“I loved Feyre very much,” he said. “Part of me will always care. Not like before. I realized that a long time ago. Before you found me on those mountains. I think the worst part of it wasn’t that Feyre fell out of love with me,” Tamlin told her. “But that I fell out of love with her. I wanted to cling to that feeling with every strength that I had because I thought she was the only thing that I knew,” he sighed. “The only thing that felt right.”

“Then what happened?” Emerie encouraged.

“I realized that there were a lot of things in my life going wrong,” he looked out the window, frowning. “Everything was falling apart. So I turned to the only thing that made a little bit of sense.”

“And then she found her mate.” 

Tamlin was silent.

“I understand,” Emerie said. Her heart hurt. “That you still care.”

“I don’t love Feyre,” Tamlin said. And it was so abrupt that Emerie looked up at him. “I’m truly happy that she’s happy. It has taken me too long to accept it and admit it. But I am. I guess I’m mostly heartbroken about lots of other things.”

“Like Lucien.”

“Like Lucien,” Tamlin nodded grimly.

“You can sort it out,” Emerie said. “It’s nothing you can’t fix.”

He looked at her. “You think so?”

“If he was that loyal of a friend,” she said. “Then why wouldn’t he accept your apology? Yes, you made a mistake. Several. But it’s never too late, Tamlin.”

Tamlin leaned down and kissed her lips gently, letting his lips linger before pulling away to look back at her.

“What was that for?” She smiled slightly.

Tamlin shrugged, “Do I have to have a specific reason to want to kiss you?”

“Well,” she mused, “usually when it’s so abruptly, yes-“

He leaned down and kissed her again, this time touching her back, pulling her to him again.

“I wanted to,” he whispered against her lips. “There’s your reason.”

And then Emerie was seeing stars all over again, breathless and panting, letting herself get lost in the way that Tamlin memorized every corner of her body with his lips.

When she turned them, climbing onto his lap, her curly hair falling on top of his chest, she returned the favour and memorized every corner of his body.

Perfection was written all over every imperfection – every scar, every bruise. She found herself smiling at him when he sat up, hands dragging up and down her back.

“You have the most beautiful smile,” he marvelled.

“Liar,” she accused. “I should kiss that lie off your lips.”

She traced them as she’d said the words, those lips that had made her feel every type of way.

Tamlin kissed the tip of her thumb. “I think you called me every name in the book already.”

“Not every single one,” she said. “I missed douchebag.”

Tamlin scoffed, trailing his hands up her sides. “Weak.”

She raised an eyebrow at the challenge. “Bitch.”

He smirked. “Still weak.”

She opened her mouth.

And instead of an insult, a moan came out of her lips when his hand traced the membrane of her wing. It sent sparks up her veins, and that same heat gathered in her core once more.

“Interesting,” he murmured. “Not at all ticklish.”

Emerie’s eyes fluttered closed. “Asshole.”

Tamlin chuckled.

She made love to him again. And again. And when Emerie thought she’d fall asleep any second, Tamlin was there in her arms again, moving against her hips, making her groan and whimper and moan his name again and again, until she was no longer capable of moving her body let alone breathe.

She fell asleep in his arms that night, her wings sheltering them both and still tingling from the kisses he’d pestered all over them, wherever he could reach.

When the sun was high in the sky once more and they woke up, Tamlin was in between her legs, his arms underneath her thighs, lifting her hips up for him to devour her.

Slowly, lazily, he took her again, their tired bodies relinquishing the time they had left.

It wasn’t much.

She’d known it. She just hadn’t let herself think about it.

Her hand caressed his chest as they laid there, his lazy lips trailing a path on her temple.

Her voice was almost gone when Emerie said, “You need to go to your court.”

Tamlin had said nothing, but she could see that he knew it, too. That he’d been preparing himself to do just that. 

It could’ve never lasted.

She had told herself that. Repeated it countless times to herself, even as Tamlin made her say his name.

Even if his heart no longer beat for another female – it still beat for his throne.

He needed it. His people needed him. And he needed them.

“Emerie,” he whispered.

“I understand,” she said. “It’s okay.”

“I wish-“

“I know,” she told him, looking up at him. “I know.”

And kissed him slowly.

When she pulled away, Emerie lowered her eyes, not feeling strong enough to face him fully. “You’re strong enough to winnow now.”

He didn’t move.

“Tamlin.”

Slowly, he sat up.

Emerie watched him. There was a heavy weight on his shoulders now – she could see it from afar. But they both knew what he had to do.

“You saved me.”

Emerie’s throat closed up.

“You saved me,” he repeated, looking over his shoulder. “I don’t know how to thank you.”

“Don’t,” she said. “I did what was right.”

“You did more,” Tamlin murmured. “More than you’ll ever know.”

He leaned in and kissed her. Emerie momentarily forgot that she had to let him go and just let herself get lost one more time.

Just one more time.

Before Tamlin pulled away and sighed.

“Thank you,” he whispered against her lips. “I-“

“Don’t.”

He looked at her. Emerie swallowed. “It’s better this way, Tamlin. For both of us.”

She thought she might’ve seen a flash of hurt across his eyes, but that would’ve been silly. Why would he be hurt? He had something to go back to. A purpose. He had a way out.

Tamlin lowered his eyes, seemingly defeated.

Emerie gave him clothes, he gave her one last kiss.

And she watched him stop at her door, his hand on the handle as if he couldn’t make himself leave.

“Go live, Tamlin.” She said to him.

He closed his eyes and turned away from her. Then he was out the door.

And away he went.

Taking her heart with him.


	3. Chapter 3

Tamlin

The High Priestess welcomed him home.

Though still weak, Tamlin carried himself through his Court, through the village that led all the way to his estate. The people stared, open-mouthed at their High Lord, supressing gasps and whispers at seeing his bruised skin and uncharacteristic clothing. His soldiers watched him warily, swords sheathed and withdrawn. If they had any intent to take him out, they certainly did not show it.

So Tamlin carried on.

No words. No explanations. He still had a lot to think about. He had to give these people a plausible reason. A decent apology.

Instead of going to his Manor, Tamlin walked all the way to the old temples. The ruins left from previous old wars had been restored, and in their place marbled stones held high, shining bright, stood. He found the High Priestess watching him from the doors, smiling faintly.

Her opened arms were friendly.

She bowed her head. Long brown hair that curled at the ends flowed gracefully with the gentle breeze. And as Tamlin looked around, as he took everything in, he found that he had missed it - the smell of the roses, the wet soil. The sunshine on his face, covering the open fields of green. The tangles of vines along the pillars, wildflowers scattered in the different shades of grass. He’d missed it. He’d missed it all.

Though it could not erase the ache inside his chest. Not at all.

“High Lord,” Mara, the High Priestess, said. Her voice had a gentle tone to it, a soft, breezy caress. “We have been waiting for you.”

“I don’t think I deserve to have that title anymore,” Tamlin said, coming to stand in front of the steps that led to the temple.

Mara, who was so unlike Ianthe in her calmness, softness and friendliness, only smiled wider, bowing her head in respect. “You are wrong, High Lord.”

Her white robes flowed gently behind her as she turned. “Please follow me,” she murmured.

Tamlin walked with her inside the Temple, where a fire burned in the centre. Mara gestured for him to have a seat, though she did not sit.

The High Lord watched the fire as he sat down, his muscles straining from the effort. It wasn’t an ordinary fire. The flames burned brighter, redder, somehow. The shades of yellow and orange had completely disappeared, turning the embers into something close to ethereal. Magical.

Mara had taken care of his people while he was gone, assuring his Court that everything was fine, when it clearly wasn’t. Somehow, she’d made peace with everyone – the soldiers, the people, the other lords. She’d made them believe a lie, mixing elements of truth with make-believe, assuring that his Court somehow held up.

He felt ashamed at how irresponsible he was. This was where he belonged. He should’ve known better. He should’ve done better.

But he could not change the past.

You can change the future, though.

The words sent a spark of pain to his heart, and it spread across his chest like a tumour. They reminded him too much of-

“You are not healed, High Lord.”

Tamlin frowned. “My wound has healed.”

Mara smiled calmly. “That is not what I am referring to.”

Tamlin lowered his head.

And Mara continued, folding her hands, “Your Court, High Lord, does not hate you. You have believed a lie. I will assure you. During your…absence, all that was clear was simply that your people missed you. Needed you.”

He looked up into the gentle brown eyes.

“But you are not healed,” she said. “Not in the way that matters.”

“I’m better.”

“I know,” she smiled, nodding. “And I have hope for you, High Lord. As do your people.”

Tamlin sighed softly. “How was everything?”

It had been a month and a half. And everything had seemed to change for him then. Weeks ago, Tamlin had felt like his feet were hanging too far from the cliff edge, like he could’ve tumbled over at any moment, if he didn’t pay attention. And truthfully, he wouldn’t have minded falling to his death.

Part of him had wished for it.

But then she found him. Emerie - she had found him.

Everything had changed.

Everything.

“Peaceful,” Mara said. “Uneventful. Your soldiers were prepared for any sudden invasion but it never came, as you can see from your village. We are healing, High Lord.”

“How can I rule after this?” Tamlin asked, the question directed more at himself than the High Priestess standing across from him, the fire separating them.

Mara said, “Do you wish to rule as you always have?”

“No.”

“Then how, High Lord?”

Tamlin paused. “I want to be better,” he murmured. “I want to do better.”

“You can,” she spoke. “The people believe in you.”

“I’m not sure of that anymore.”

“Give them a reason to believe you, then,” Mara said. “The ability to forgive is one of life’s greatest blessings. And challenges,” she added. Then she smiled down at him, her tone softer, “Are you ready to forgive yourself, High Lord?”

Was he?

Could he?

“I want to.” 

“That is a step forward,” she encouraged.

Tamlin nodded, sighing to himself.

He watched Mara look into the fire that-was-not-fire, her brown eyes gleaming. There was something in them – an understanding that went beyond common perception. A wisdom that was not chained to time or space.

When she spoke, her voice was almost a whisper, “The young female who saved you in the Night Court – does she know?”

Tamlin’s heart stopped beating. He felt his throat close. “Know what?”

Mara met his eyes and, for a second, she looked startled. But then any resemblance of surprise was wiped off her features and she gently said, “That you made it home alright.”

Tamlin stared. Taken aback, he said, “How do you-“

“If magic did not show me your true feelings, High Lord, then your heart certainly would,” she smiled. “You are very easy to read.”

Tamlin thought that it was awfully specific the way she’d said it, but the memory of Emerie was still too fresh in his mind and-

And he wanted to keep talking about her. He wanted to hear her name. Wanted to tell everyone about her.

Tamlin wanted her here with him.

He guessed some things were never meant to change: his selfishness was one of them.

Tamlin’s face hardened. “I do not wish to speak of it.”

Mara bowed her head, “Very well.” And then she said, “I will accompany you to your Manor, High Lord, if you wish. Help you with a speech.”

And Tamlin did not have in him to deny her. He needed all the help he could get to gain back his court. So he simply said, “Thank you, Mara.”

“It is an honour, High Lord.”

“No, I mean, thank you. For everything you did while I was gone. For holding the weight of this Court in your shoulders. I can never thank you enough.”

Mara smiled down at him. Like a friend would.

Tamlin realized that he couldn’t quite remember what having a friend was like.

She said, “It was no such thing, High Lord. But if you wish – you can thank me by letting yourself heal and be the ruler you have always wanted to be.”

Tamlin nodded gratefully.

When they left the temple, Tamlin let his eyes drag along the strange fire again, and as he followed Mara to the Spring Court Manor, he could almost swear to his life that in those depths of flaming red he saw dark hair in tight curls and wings fluttering in the dancing embers.

***

Emerie

Five nights without him dragged like five years.

Time had never gone this slow for Emerie before, not once in her life did she feel as if she could drown in the enemy that was time.

Time heals all wounds, her mother had once said to her. Once – when Emerie’s wings had been clipped, when the pain in her veins and back and heart kept her awake for days straight. Back then she thought the pain would never end. And the words her mother had used only served for the physical wounds – yes, her muscles had healed. Yes, she could move her wings now and not feel any discomfort, any sort of ache.

But time was only a whip that lashed her for the crime of being born a female. Time sentenced her to a lifetime of regret. Every day, fifty lashes. Every day, fifty reminders of what she had lost and could never regain.

She often wondered what flying felt like.

She wondered as she propped herself in her windowsill, a cup of strong tea in her hand. She wondered, her throat tight with a rope carefully tied around it, as she watched the Illyrian males flap their wings and shoot into the sky, free as birds.

Free as birds. With the choice to leave here, if they decided to.

Emerie blew the steam from her tea, cold hands wrapped around the hot mug. The snow outside fell in ribbons, piling up, caging her.

A prison.

She was wingless bird trapped in a white, bright cage.

No matter how comfortable, how lovely that cage was – she was still trapped. Never to leave. Never to see the world.

Never to be free.

Warriors fought in the snow, wings shaking behind them as they attempted to fight off the cold. Young and old, they trained relentlessly. She was surprised to see the females at it, too. She watched them instead, the quick steps, the determination in their clenched jaws.

She watched their commander, Lord Cassian, train them. It gave her hope to see the High Lord’s commander pay such attention to the females and treat them with the respect their deserved. Give them the chance they deserved.

If only things had been like this when she was a child.

If Rhysand’s father hadn’t been on that throne when she was born…maybe she’d have the chance they were having, too.

Emerie was not a fighter. And the world she lived in now did not require her to be. And the strength of an Illyrian warrior had a lot to do with their wings – that’s where their essence lied. That was their power – the ability to fly.

She turned her eyes away, bitter and upset.

She had always wanted to fly.

And for a second, for just one moment, she had felt like she could. With him.

With him she had felt like she could touch the sky if she wanted to. Flap her wings and fly away – a free bird, no longer caged, no longer tied to a past that had died in the war.

Emerie tried to remember why she’d taken her father’s shop when she had no attachment to her family. After what they had done to her sister…Emerie had felt like an outsider inside her own home, looking at her father and brothers and mother like someone completely different and separated from them. Watching her father and brothers belittle her mother, watching her mother let herself bow and obey and be nothing but respectful to the males who dared to cut off her wings and her daughters’ wings.

They had pushed her sister off that cliff, whether they admitted to or not.

And her mother – her own mother – had sneered and pointed her finger. Had told them to take away Emerie’s birth right. She had watched as Emerie sobbed and screamed and pleaded and she had done nothing but shake her head in disappointment.

“I will not let you become your sister.”

She set down her untouched cup of tea.

It was ironic how much she resembled Aella. Her sister had been a whirlwind; a true personification of a thunderstorm, which Emerie would never match up to, but she couldn’t deny how similar their situations had become. How they both found a taste for freedom, how they craved it more than anything; how their hearts had found a home and had ultimately been broken.

Emerie wondered if Aella had found a mate in that male she loved. If they were soul-bonded. If that had been tipping point of her wanting to run away.

Emerie folded her wings around her body and closed her eyes.

“Come with us.”

“Aella – I can’t. This is my home.”

“Home?” Her sister had frowned. “How can you call this home? How can you bear it?”

“Please, Aella-“

“Sister,” Aella had sobbed, clutching Emerie’s shoulders. “This is our chance. Please let us try. Let us make a life for ourselves.”

Maybe they would’ve made it out if Emerie had just said yes.

Maybe they would’ve been killed faster.

The little bell on the door downstairs rang, startling her. Emerie sighed and walked down to her shop, leaving the cup of tea forgotten and cold.

She was not surprised to see Cassian downstairs.

“Lord Cassian,” she greeted, stepping behind the counter.

Cassian smiled. “I thought I told you I was not a Lord.”

Emerie made a careless gesture with her hand, “I forget,” she tried to smile back.

It was not the first time the commander had come into her shop. They had become familiar with each other as acquaintances, since Cassian stopped by every now and then to buy winter gear for the soldiers.

“We’re closed today.”

“Are you going to deny your favourite and best customer?”

Emerie breathed a laugh. “What do you need, Commander?”

Cassian smiled, “I’ll take every coat you have.”

Without another word, Emerie turned and went to the cabinets to retrieve the gear she needed. Her left wing fluttered behind her as the chilly winter breeze from the open window touched the membrane.

Suddenly, out of the blue, she felt Cassian stiffen behind her.

And then icy water ran through her veins.

Emerie held her breath as she turned slowly to him.

His eyes were wide. “Who was here.”

Emerie wanted to punch herself in the face. She had forgotten to burn the flowers. The damn flowers.

She had taken almost three baths a day and still his scent would not leave her body. It was entwined in her skin, wrapped around her bones, sunk in her very core and-

And Cassian had scented it with the slight movement of her wing. The breeze must’ve carried the scent to him-

Of course he must’ve recognized it.

Emerie stared at him, her mouth pressed into a tight line.

“Emerie?” Cassian said tentatively, confused.

“No one was here.”

Cassian sniffed, looking around. “The scent is days old but it’s strong.”

“It’s none of your business,” she said harshly.

Cassian frowned now. “It is my business when the High Lord of the Spring Court’s scent is in the Night Court’s territory.”

Emerie wouldn’t say anything. If there was the slight chance that they would hurt him-

“I need you to tell me, Emerie,” Cassian said, eyeing her strangely. “If you’re connected to him-“

“I said it’s none of your fucking business.”

Cassian furrowed his eyebrows, his mouth opened in shock. She knew it wasn’t aimed at her language, but at her defensiveness. She was digging herself deeper and deeper every passing minute.

“He could be planning something.”

“He’s planning nothing,” she blurted out.

Cassian stared at her for a long, long time. Calmly, he leaned against the counter, watching her. And then he said, “He was here then.”

There was no point in lying anymore.

Emerie turned her face away, towards the windows.

“Why was he here?”

Emerie was silent.

“We have the right to declare war on Spring if their High Lord was in our territory without being noticed and announced. You know that right?”

Somehow Cassian had quickly figured out that Tamlin meant something to her. Maybe because his scent was entwined with hers. Her cheeks pinked.

She knew it was hopeless.

She knew she had to tell him the truth.

Emerie lowered her eyes in defeat. “He was hurt. I just nursed him back to health and he’s gone back to Spring now,” she said with clenched teeth. “I know that Rhysand visited Spring last winter and saw the state of him. So you don’t have to wonder why he chose the Night Court. He wanted one of you to kill him.”

Cassian listened. Despite the surprise dancing in his eyes, he showed no anger.

She swallowed. And carried on, “He was attacked. Animals. I found him in the mountains. Brought him back and healed him. I know what you’re going to say. He didn’t care to find information. He didn’t care about bringing you down. He just didn’t care. The male was in bad shape, Commander. And I couldn’t leave him to die in the snow. No information about the Night Court was given, rest assured-“

“I didn’t think that.”

Emerie paused. “He just…he was not alright, okay?”

Cassian blinked. “Okay.”

He straightened.

Emerie placed a hand on the counter. “Wait – are you going to tell Rhysand?”

“I have to.”

Emerie’s heart punched her chest. “Please don’t hurt him.”

The begging – the pleading – it shattered her pride a little bit. It reminded her of the young female she’d been when her wings had been clipped. But she couldn’t bear the thought-

Cassian paused. And Emerie watched his face change, the strain gone from his forehead, his neck. His eyes were bright now.

“Rhysand will not hurt anyone,” Cassian said, nodding curtly. “I promise you Tamlin will not be harmed.”

She breathed a sigh of relief. Pathetic. Pathetic, Emerie. But oh, Gods-

“He wants nothing to do with the Night Court, you have to know that.”

Cassian leaned his elbows against the counter. His tone was still calm, collected. Sympathetic. “Have you thought that maybe he could’ve lied to you?”

Emerie stepped back. “About what,” she demanded.

“His intentions.”

Her hands wrapped around the edge of the counter, the wood groaning beneath her hands. She leaned in close to the commander. “He wanted to die, Cassian. That was his intention. There was no talk of either Court. He was a male without a throne here.”

“He left in the end though.”

The words were a slap in the face. She knew Cassian wasn’t trying to upset her. She knew he was only trying to dissuade his own fears and doubts, making sure that he could trust her and trust Tamlin, but still. That sentence swam around in her mind, and she felt a pain so deep inside herself that she had to clutch her chest.

“I convinced him to go back to his Court.”

“Why?”

“Because he needed it.”

Cassian paused. And then he said, “He was truly in bad shape, wasn’t he?”

Emerie still felt threatened, still felt a knife hanging over her head, but her heart calmed a little at the words. “Yes.”

Cassian was silent as he grabbed the coats on the counter. He gave Emerie a small yet fat bag of coins and sighed to himself. “It was a tough winter.”

“Winter isn’t over, Commander.”

Winter always covers these camps. 

“No,” Cassian said, his tone distant. “It’s not.”

Emerie went silent, fighting with herself. She debated in keeping silent until he left the shop, but the hammering in her mind and in her heart did not stop and she needed to make sure, she needed to protect him-

“Tell our High Lord,” she blurted out, her words quick and rushed, “that Tamlin will not wage war against the Night Court. Tell him my story. Tell him that…I saw him. And I can assure him that there is no need for a war.”

“I will, Emerie,” Cassian said, a soft smile playing on his lips.

Emerie was startled at the sudden change in him.

“You will?”

“Of course.”

“Why?”

Cassian simply adjusted the coats under his arm and smiled down at her. “If you protect the bastard so ferociously, then I have no reason to doubt you – and neither will Rhysand. He will understand, as did I.”

Emerie stared. “I don’t protect-“

“You do,” Cassian grinned. “You did. You were ready to bite my head off just now.” Before Emerie could respond, the commander turned to go. He paused, looking over his shoulder. “Don’t worry – I understand.”

Emerie held her breath. “Understand what?”

Cassian simply smirked and opened the door. The winter breeze came in, harsh and unforgiving as he paused and stared at her. And then he said, “Your reaction.” His smirk widened as he shrugged, “I have a mate too.”

He closed the door before Emerie had time to let the words sink in, taking with him the unforgiving cold of a long, harsh winter.

***

Tamlin

He had expected thorns.

The last time he’d been here, his Manor had been covered with them: vile roses tainted grey with thorns as big as claws, imprisoning him in the cage that was once his home – that’s how it had felt like before.

Before her.

Now the Manor was as bright as the temples beyond the village, new sets of flowers covering the gardens and the gravel drive, every colour imaginable. Spring Court never suffered the intense cold felt in other courts like Night and Winter, so the flowers grew and thrived easily. During his time away, they had somehow managed to fix the mess he’d made. The house he’d destroyed.

“Why?” He murmured to Mara as they walked up the front steps.

“Did I not tell you that your people do not despise you?”

“Some of them have to despise me after everything,” Tamlin said, as if he was in some kind of dream, walking into his pristine house. It felt like home.

Mara smiled gently. “Not the majority.”

The inside was polished, clean, bright. The curtains were withdrawn, letting the warm sunlight paint the cream walls a gentle, soothing yellow. The chequered marble floor seemed to glow as Tamlin walked to the throne room, his reflection accompanying him all the way there.

His throne was not demolished.

He stared at it, at the crown neatly placed in the middle of it.

He had no words.

“Thank you,” he whispered to Mara.

Servants lined up on each side of the throne room, the familiar faces greeting him not with smiles, but with open faces – calm faces. Forgiving faces.

“Thank you,” he said to them.

Some seemed surprised to be addressed, some nodded in response, grateful for the acknowledgment, and others simply watched on, their expressions neutral.

He knew he had a lot to work through. A lot of work to do in terms of getting his people to trust him again. But for the first time in a long time, the light shone in.

And Tamlin wanted to be the High Lord they deserved.

The High Lord he had always wanted to be.

The High Lord Emerie believed he could be.

“Mara,” he said.

“Yes, High Lord?”

“I need your help,” he admitted.

“Anything, High Lord.”

Tamlin looked around at his servants, his soldiers. His people. And he said, “I want to write a speech.”

***

Days passed without a hint of a threat from his people. There were grateful faces amongst the crowd and uninterested faces alike, but none of them seemed to want him dead.

Which Tamlin believed was a start.

He had Mara to thank for it. When he left, he’d carelessly told her to take care of his people, his crown, and let him be. Mara had chased him all the way to the border, begging him to stay, and Tamlin had simply vanished out of sight. He trusted the Priestess. He trusted her goodness.

He had been a dick.

He wanted to learn how to be less of a dick. Less selfish. More High Lord material, if you will.

And for that – he needed help. And for once in his life, he wasn’t ashamed to ask.

The story was that the High Lord had travelled the Courts to assure peace for their kingdom. It was supposed to be a friendly visit, thus unannounced and unplanned, less formal, and that was why their people were not informed.

Tamlin knew lying was not Mara’s strongest suit, though somehow the people trusted her. Adored her, even. Flowers were thrown at her feet as they walked past, children wrapped around her legs, hugging her and giving her fresh bouquets of pale orchids, and she smiled and waved at every single one of them, gracious and pure and genuine. The perfect picture of a saint.

She had saved his image, saved his court.

When he’d spoken to his people in a public gathering, just him – no crown, no lords, but as one of them – Tamlin had seen the suspicion fade from his people’s eyes. Slowly, but surely, they realized that their High Lord was back, and the lie worked. A High Lord who’d left to find peace, unfortunately finding trouble on the way.

An ancient, wise-looking female approached him gently after his speech. She bowed, and smiled.

“High Lord,” she said, her voice kind. “We are happy to have you back.”

Watching the female smile made his heart ache, the lie suddenly becoming a weight on his mind, his shoulders. Suddenly he wanted to tell them the truth – tell them how weak he’d been, how wrong he’d been to wish his life to be over, how selfish. But this was necessary for him to keep the crown on his head. And a crown on his head meant that he could start repaying his people for the trouble he had caused them. That he could change and be better. Do better by them. That’s why he’d made many changed - eliminating the Tithe was one of them.

“Thank you very much,” he bowed back, smiling humbly.

“Please accept this,” she extended a bag that smelled deliciously of herbs. “They’re from my own garden, High Lord. To ease your wounds.”

She pointed a finger to his arm, to the purple bruises he hadn’t covered so well.

His heart broke for this female, for her unexpected kindness.

He smiled graciously, taking her hand and shaking it. “My thanks,” he said softly. “You have given me a great gift. It will certainly be useful.”

Tamlin took the herbs, the smell causing him to look back on memories from the days where all he could see was dark eyes glinting down at him.

Moments like this, with his people, gave him hope. That he could be a better High Lord. A better male.

Tamlin clung to that hope as he made his way back home.

***

Emerie

Mate.

Mate.

The commander had to be wrong. Had to be messing with her.

It wasn’t true. It wasn’t true.

And yet her heart sang at the words, wings fluttering behind her. And yet-

What if it was true? What would she do?

Nothing, she told herself. Don’t be ridiculous. You’ll do nothing.

The nervousness, the incessant ache inside her chest, in her heart, the dreams of him, the fact she couldn’t erase his scent from her body-

It had to mean something.

Her mind ran in circles as Emerie sank down onto the floor behind her counter. The world was a mess. The world was bright. The world as she knew it shattered into a million pieces as that ache thrummed in her heart, as the realization struck her like an arrow going through her very own body. Her wings gave out and hit the floor, sinking as she had.

She remembered how she felt when she was holding him. When his lips traced the freckles on her back, the veins on her wings. How her mind had become colourful then, how her wings had felt strong, so strong, strong enough to lift and take her away from that cold place and somewhere else where the sun shined and the flowers grew high.

She remembered the sparkling feeling inside her chest, bubbling with happiness, as Tamlin had smiled down at her, his smile so beautiful, so bright, so-

She remembered him whispering in her ear. She remembered the words, soft and quiet, hidden from the world, and only for her to hear:

“I need you.”

“I want you.”

“I crave you.”

“I need you.”

“I need you.”

“I need you.”

Her heart hadn’t been the same since she’d found that beast lying in the snow.

Maybe it had changed the second she’d looked into those forest green eyes and gotten herself lost amongst the trees and the danger. Maybe she’d been too blind, too scared, to realize.

Mate.

She had a mate.

Mate. Mate. Mate.

Her mind repeated the word with every punching beat of her heart.

Despite herself, Emerie found that her face had contorted.

She was smiling.

She touched her cheeks, not believing herself. And indeed, there was a smile there.

Tamlin.

Her mate.

She should’ve never brought him here. Her mother had been right. Impulsive. Careless. She was just like her sister.

But- 

For the first time, she felt free.

Would he feel the same?

You saw him. You saw how unwilling he was to leave. To leave you.

Would he feel the same if he saw her again?

Dangerous. Stupid. Careless. Insane – to even think about it.

But what if? What if?

What if Tamlin held the key to opening her cage?

She’d done crazier things.

No, you haven’t.

She’d have to try. She’d have to-

No, you don’t.

At least once in her life she had to be brave-

You’re not brave. You’re delusional.

He had his crown. His people. Why would he want her?

And yet there was something, a feeling deep within her that called out to her, something that told her to to move and go and go go go. And not miss this chance. A chance at a life, at love.

You are from enemy Courts.

You are foolish, Emerie.

You’ve known him for a month.

But what if Tamlin had another chance to see her? What if-

He’s on the other side of the goddamn continent, what are you thinking- 

Emerie lifted herself up and looked towards the door. If anything, Cassian could still be distributing the coats to some of the warriors outside. If he could winnow her-

To the territory of HIS enemy?

Emerie leaned against the balcony, sighing to herself. No, it wasn’t a plan. Walking all the way down to spring…it would take days. Maybe a whole week if she took into account the time she’d waste sleeping and eating.

And what if she walked there for a week? Through unknown territories, all on her own, a female with useless wings, and it turned out that she had been wrong all along? What if she spent all that time reaching for him only to find that he did not want her like this?

He was a High Lord. What kind of relationship could they have?

All at once, that shred of hope she held close to her was blown away with the wind. No, it was useless. Maybe he would realize and come to her.

Maybe she’d spend all her life missing him, wings too large for that cage, lock too tight to break.

Maybe it wasn’t meant to be.

But Emerie had to try.

And so she grabbed a pen and an old scrap of paper and she wrote. A simple note, three sentences, nothing else. She didn’t even sign it, hoping that Tamlin would gather enough from the words to know.

He had to know.

The next day, the commander did not come to the camps. Nor did he come the next, or the next, or the next. On the fifth day, Emerie grew anxious and impatient, and so she decided that if she couldn’t track all the way to Spring, she’d at least try and deliver this message to the High Lord himself, and hope that he’d be kind enough to give it to Tamlin. Emerie had no doubt that the High Lord would want to question Tamlin when he found out. If he hadn’t already.

If they haven’t killed each other already.

Emerie hoped to the saints and all their mothers that Cassian hadn’t lied to her.

It was just three hours to Velaris, and if Emerie left at that moment she’d reach the High Lord of the Night Court and his High Lady by dusk.

I am a bird. Wings, or no wings. And this cage will not contain me.

She gathered what she could and warmed herself against the cold and the snow. She hoped the storms were far gone.

Emerie placed the note in her pocket and marched out of the door and into the startling chilled air.

The bird picked at the lock, not intending to give up.

***

Tamlin

He woke up anxious that morning.

A few days later, when the sun rose, sweat gathered at his brow and his sheets felt constricting. The air was gone from his lungs as he sat up.

What is happening?

In the shower, Tamlin placed his forehead against the wall tiles, letting the cold water drip over his body. He dreamt of snow enveloping him, the cold shattering his bones, splinters digging into his skin-

What’s happening to you?

When he emerged out of the bathroom, completely dressed and ready for the day, he stared out the window and into the sunlight, attempting to calm his thundering heart. Something was not right. Deep within him sat a feeling of discomfort, unease. Like walking through a floor made of thin glass, a hundred thousand miles up in the sky, looking down at the large expense of earth, feeling as if at any moment the glass would disappear and you’d fall face-first into your death.

It was unsettling.

A knock on his door.

“Yes.”

A servant came in, crossing her hands together. “Good morning, High Lord.”

“Good morning, Melia.”

She bowed briefly. “High Lord, the High Lord and High Lady of the Night Court are here to see you.”

Tamlin stiffened. He turned to look at her.

The servant swallowed. “They are waiting in the parlour, High Lord. They wish only to speak with you.”

“Did they say what about?”

“No, High Lord.”

“Tell them I’ll be right down, Melia,” Tamlin said, swallowing down his surprise. “Thank you.”

The servant nodded, and left promptly.

Tamlin knew Rhysand would come looking for him eventually. How he’d found out, he didn’t know.

A thought struck him. So hard it almost slapped him in the face. Emerie-

You’re panicking. Feyre would never let them hurt an innocent.

Tamlin sighed, trying not to remember the last time he’d seen Rhysand. The state he’d seen Tamlin in. But things were better now; at least, that’s what Tamlin kept telling himself.

Yes, things were alright.

There was something missing from his life. He could feel it in his bones. He could feel it as he woke up every morning. But other that, things were…better than he expected.

He hoped it would last.

For peace, he reminded himself.

Tamlin walked down the stairs to meet the High Lord and High Lady of the Night Court.

***

Feyre and Rhysand were standing in the middle of the parlour, looking beyond uncomfortable.

A part of Tamlin – one that was buried very, very deep – smirked at that.

But when he stood in front of the two, Tamlin gestured for them to take a seat on the cushioned sofas.

The room was large but had little furniture, as it was only supposed to be a sun room where his mother once used to sit and read. He’d changed nothing. Even when his Manor was destroyed, this room was the one that was left completely intact.

He nodded at both of them, not dismissing the quiet look of surprise in Feyre’s eyes – certainly aimed at his composure. She’d heard the stories from her mate, it seemed, and was quite shocked to see him so alive.

“Rhysand,” he said. “Hello, Feyre.”

“Hello Tamlin,” she responded with a curt nod.

Tamlin went back to a time when he’d said that there were no High Ladies.

Indeed, he’d been terribly wrong. Drowned in his father’s ideals and stupid traditions. Looking at her now, at the small crown on her head, the midnight gown, and the steady, calculating gaze, she looked more like a High Lady than ever. Like a queen.

He waited for that feeling to come. The ache, the jealousy, the bitterness. He waited for his heart to race at the sight of her, but nothing came.

Nothing at all.

It almost startled him.

“We know we came unannounced, but we hoped to talk to you,” she continued.

“I know what you want to know,” Tamlin said, his tone calm. Breathing in, Tamlin locked his fingers together. “What you came for.”

Rhysand watched him carefully. “You look better.”

“I feel better.”

“Good,” Rhysand said tightly. “What were you doing in our territory?”

Feyre snapped her eyes to her High Lord.

Tamlin smirked, “Getting right to the topic.”

Rhysand leaned back on the couch, the perfect picture of nonchalance and casualty. “Not to steal any secrets, I hope?” 

“Shit,” Tamlin snarled, clicking his tongue. “I was ready to march on your Court right about now.”

Rhysand eyed him for a bit and then his smirk mimicked Tamlin’s. Feyre watched them warily. She raised her eyebrows at Rhysand.

“She already told you, didn’t she?”

Rhysand’s attention snapped up to Tamlin again. The Lord of Night knew who he was referring to.

“Not her,” Rhysand said carefully. “My commander.”

“What.”

“Bits and bobs,” Rhys said, waving a hand, ignoring the main question. “Not the whole story.”

Tamlin’s brain made up a thousand different plots that explained why and how the Night’s commander was talking to Emerie. How they knew each other. What had made Emerie talk. What had they done to her-

“Is she safe?” Tamlin asked, blood boiling.

Rhysand raised an eyebrow. “You believe we would kidnap a female from my own territory just so I could, what? Torture her for information about you?”

“Is she safe.”

A spark of interest shone in Rhysand’s eyes. He said, “Cassian went to her shop to buy the Illyrian’s winter gear - on my orders. He detected your scent there. Entwined with hers.”

Tamlin’s throat closed up.

“He just asked her what you were doing there,” Rhysand assured. “Given our circumstances, I’m sure you understand. But Emerie,” Tamlin wanted to sink when that name came out of the High Lord’s lips, “it seems, looked a bit too protective of you. Cassian gathered enough from it to know that you two were somehow connected.”

“And.”

“And she asked Cassian not to kill you.”

Tamlin looked away, towards the windows. She could picture her perfectly: the dark curls framing her tan face, the little hands clenching into fists, the raise of her chin that was just so stubborn. He still had her voice trapped inside his mind.

“We did not harm her, Tamlin.”

“We just want to know,” Feyre added. “From you, personally.” She paused. And then, “Please.”

Tamlin hoped he would never have to open the can of worms that was that part of his mind. The part that had led him to the Night Court looking for a fight, willing to die and let it be over. The part that was still bitter and arrogant and selfish.

You wanted peace. This is it.

Tamlin sighed.

And told them everything.

***

Emerie

One hour later and the snow had piled up to her knees.

She debated turning back as the clouds shifted from light to dark grey. She debated giving up and going back to the cage.

But you’re almost there.

The lock was almost open.

So Emerie fought through it. She made herself remember the words she’d written, made herself feel the ache in her heart for something more, something else other than a cage. 

She forced herself to see his face.

And she fought through it.

Until she could not.

Until the cold got too much, until the night crept in too quickly, until the snow got too hard too fast. Until she could no longer feel her own bones. In the far distance, a wolf howled. Several more were heard.

Emerie took a step and exhaustion made her fall into the snow. She willed her frozen muscles to move, her heart to beat, her lungs to work.

Impulsive.

Careless.

Idiotic.

Just like your sister.

Her arms shook and her body gave out.

Her last thought was of her grandmother. Something about a healing flower. There were no flowers here, only snow.

Emerie closed her eyes. The howls came closer. The wolves were coming.

And this bird had no wings to fly.

***

Tamlin

Afterwards, he offered a drink to a silent Rhysand and an even more silent Feyre.

Hours had passed and night made the flowers’ petals close. The room was silent except the crackling fire of the candles.

And then Feyre placed down her drink. And looked at him in the eyes. Pausing, she said tightly yet somehow gently, “I’m sorry – that you had to go through all that.”

“Thank you.”

“You were incredibly lucky an Illyrian didn’t find you,” Rhys said. “If someone had killed you – I wouldn’t have the right to punish them.”

Because it wasn’t his territory.

Tamlin understood.

“You wanted to know,” Tamlin said, turning his eyes away. He was unbearably uncomfortable. “There you have it.”

There was a long, still silence in the room again. And then Rhysand raised his glass in Tamlin’s direction. He said, “Peace, then?”

Tamlin looked at the half-filled glass. Looked to Rhysand – and then to Feyre. He murmured, “There’s more.”

Rhys lowered his glass.

And Tamlin looked at Feyre. Right in the eye – as she had. And he said, loud and clear, “I am sorry, Feyre. For the pain I caused. For the words I said. It was not fair to you. And it took me too long to see that, to see how I hurt you. I can hope for your forgiveness, though I know much I don’t deserve it. I can hope to be better in the future, and I’m certainly working towards it. And I can only thank you for the happiness – however brief – that you made me feel. This apology is undoubtedly late, I realize,” Tamlin lowered his eyes. “But it’s genuine. And I wish you both happiness.”

Feyre looked at him for a while. Her eyes were soft as she said, “Thank you, Tamlin.”

He looked to Rhysand, “And I’m sorry to you.”

Rhys shrugged.

No forgiveness yet – but a step toward it.

It was Feyre who raised her glass. “To peace, then.”

And the two of their raised their glasses, saying in unison, “To peace.”

In the same moment, Tamlin felt a pain inside his chest. Like someone had reached out and wrapped a hand around it, squeezing and squeezing-

His glass shattered on the floor. He was up in a minute. 

Panic, pure panic – and something else. A feeling. Something in the back of his mind that screamed at him, danger danger danger.

“Tamlin-“ Feyre started.

“Something’s not right,” he murmured, clutching at his chest. “It’s her.”

“Who-“

“Emerie,” Tamlin choked out. “I have to go, I have to-“

“Hey,” Rhys said. Tamlin realized, distracted, that Rhysand was holding him upright by the shoulders. “What did you just feel?”

“Emerie,” Tamlin said again. “I feel-I-“

“Rhysand,” Feyre said, wide-eyed.

Tamlin didn’t know if they were speaking to each other silently, he didn’t care. He marched out of the door, “I’m going to the Night Court.”

Not a request.

Feyre and Rhysand followed him out of the door to the gravel drive.

“Tamlin,” Rhys said, “Is she your-“

But before he could finish hearing the sentence, he winnowed, leaving behind a wide-eyed Feyre and an open-mouthed Rhysand.

***

Tamlin didn’t even think of a location when he winnowed, but somehow he ended up on the same mountain Emerie had found him the first time.

The storm was raging, angry and bitter, blowing the snow off the ground and into the air. It dripped down on him, that blanket of white amongst all the darkness.

“EMERIE?” He screamed.

He screamed it ten more times.

Tamlin searched. He searched for what it seemed like hours. Intolerable hours.

He felt ready to vomit every five minutes, and the unceasing pressure on his chest almost threw him to the ground. It felt like dying.

Please, please, please.

He begged the stars, the Mother, the Cauldron, anything.

Please lead me to her.

Emerie.

Emerie.

Emerie.

Tamlin roared loud enough to bring down a mountain, claws punching the snow, making way for him. He scented the air as he went along, trying to catch that familiar scent that warmed his heart, something that would give him the slightest bit of hope-

She wasn’t there.

She was not there.

No. No. No-

She couldn’t be in her cabin – no, he wouldn’t feel like this if she were safe. No, she had to be somewhere around here. She had to be. He had to find her.

Why did I leave you.

Why did I think I could do this without you.

“EMERIE?” He bellowed.

The storm roared louder, biting back at him. The tears froze on his face.

And the beast sank to its knees.

***

Emerie

A faint sound.

Far, far away, beyond that mountain. And then deep inside her, a calling that kept her awake, a thrumming that kept her blood flowing in her veins, that kept her warm. 

“EMERIE!”

She must be dreaming.

Her grandmother used to say that sometimes these mountains whispered things, wonderful things, things you wished for. Only if you listened carefully would you hear.

She listened carefully.

“EMERIE!”

Emerie remembered the words:

“If you have a question, you go to the Mountains.”

“Why, grandmother?”

“They have all the answers.”

“The Mountains? – that doesn’t seem right, grandmother.”

“Ah, but sweet Emerie, there’s nothing more magical than those Mountains. And the true will of someone. Their determination.”

“So…I just need to ask for what I want?”

“You have to be brave enough to ask, sweet Emerie. You have to have a will stronger than steel. And then the Mountains will give you your answer.”

Magical mountains. Sure.

Maybe her grandmother had been delusional. Maybe Emerie had become delusional too.

“EMERIE!”

Her heart sped up.

You have to be brave enough to ask.

“EMERIE!”

Was it possible? Was it true, what she was hearing?

“So be brave, my love. And you will have your answers.”

Emerie breathed in a difficult breath. She felt as if her lungs were being stabbed by pricks of ice. But slowly, she breathed. She managed to blurt out a word, incomprehensible amongst the cold, the shivering of her body, the snow. But she said it again.

“EMERIE!”

And this time, louder, she rasped out, “Tamlin?”

Still just a whisper. But she said it again, “Tamlin.”

The mountains seemed to shake. But maybe that was just her.

“EMERIE!”

“Tamlin.”

And then the world dissolved into nothing.

***

Tamlin

Can you hear me, he thought, desperately. Can you feel me?

I can feel you, Emerie. Give me a sign. Give me another one.

“Tamlin.”

Slow, soft, a whisper in the darkness, a breeze of spring amongst the roaring storm. He could hear her, like a gentle chanting echoing in the wind.

And again, “Tamlin.”

“Emerie.”

He ran.

Clawing through the snow, the ice and the pain, Tamlin ran in the direction is heart pointed him to – right to that chanting.

When he found her, he sank to his knees and thanked every god for this miracle. She was buried under several inches of snow, her body frozen, her lips blue, her skin frighteningly pale.

“Emerie,” he held her to his chest. “I’m going to get you out of here.”

He didn’t waste any time. Picking her up, picking his heart up, Tamlin winnowed back home.

***

He shouted orders left and right.

The Manor was chaos when they arrived, servants gasping and whimpering at the winged female frozen in his arms.

Tamlin bathed her in warm water himself.

Slowly, the ice melted away.

“Wait for me,” he whispered to her, touching her cheeks. “Don’t go, Emerie. Don’t go.”

Her skin was still cold when Tamlin wrapped her in blankets in one of the rooms, the bed too big for her. The fireplace was crackling as he sat by her, as a servant came and measured her temperature.

“High Lord, her temperature is slowly rising.”

He couldn’t bother saying thank you, couldn’t bother forming words. He clutched her hand as the servant exited the room, and Tamlin touched his forehead to the back of her cold hand. 

Sometime later – he didn’t know when, time didn’t seem real anymore – he felt the door open and a voice that sounded like Rhysand’s exclaim, “You found her.”

He hadn’t said anything, just sat by her, eyes closed, hearing and feeling her breathe. Whoever it was left.

The whole night, Tamlin was by her side. The whole night he took her temperature, his heart calming bit by bit as it became higher.

If she was mortal, she would’ve been dead.

If she was mortal, her lungs would’ve stopped working. A fever would’ve taken her. Tamlin’s chest tightened. But the colour soon rose to her cheeks, and Tamlin could feel that steel heart of hers fighting to keep her alive, the immortal blood flowing through her veins strengthening her, healing her.

He could do nothing else but pray.

***

Someone touched his shoulder gently – a warm hand.

Tamlin opened his eyes, watching the sun rise in the sky. Mara was looking down at him.

He’d fallen asleep.

His first reaction was to look at Emerie, and he found himself hurting that she was still asleep. He was clutching her hand.

“High Lord,” Mara whispered. “You need to eat. It’s been almost two days.”

“She hasn’t woken up,” he rasped out.

“She will,” Mara said. “If you want to be here when she does – you need to eat. You will perish if you do not.”

Tamlin refused to stop holding her.

“Your mate is strong, High Lord,” Mara said. “She will get through this. She is a strong one. You do not have to leave the room, I will ask the servants to bring you food. But please, you have to eat.”

Tamlin froze.

The world ripped at the edges.

A ringing sound in his ear as he turned to look over his shoulder at the High Priestess. “What did you say.”

Mara took a step back. “Only that you…need to eat, High Lord.”

“No,” he said, his voice guttural, too rough. “My what.”

Mara swallowed with difficulty, her eyes wide. She looked between him and Emerie, parting her mouth. She whispered the words, “I am s-sorry, High Lord.” And then lower. “I thought you had realized.”

“She’s my mate.”

“Yes, High Lord,” the Priestess lowered her eyes.

The shock hit him in waves, one harsher than the other.

“How long have you known, Mara?”

“Since you came back, High Lord.”

His hands trembled.

That was why-

“The young female who saved you in the Night Court – does she know?”

Mara had taken aback what she was going to say that first day in the temple.

Tamlin swallowed.

“I am very sorry, High Lord. I thought-“

“I always knew,” he whispered, turning back to Emerie. Her parted lips were turning pink now. “I guess I was just too scared to face it.”

The silence was tranquil around the room, though his heart was thrumming at the revelation.

Mate. He’d found her.

No – she’d found him.

Tamlin whispered, “Do you think she knows?” as he traced the back of her hand with his thumb.

“That I do not know, High Lord,” Mara responded curtly.

Tamlin sighed softly. The waves were smaller now. Slowly disappearing until the waters were still.

“Please ask one of the servants to send in something to eat, Mara.”

He heard the smile in the Priestess’ face. “Of course, High Lord.”

When the door clicked shut, Tamlin smiled tiredly at the sleeping female. Her dark wings were folded behind her, and he couldn’t possibly figure out how Illyrian’s could sleep like that with wings so large. Although Emerie’s weren’t particularly large, they still managed to drag on the floor whenever she was too distracted to fold them behind her.

He made a mental note to ask her, when she woke up, how she managed to be comfortable in that position.

He remembered how those wings felt wrapped around him and he suddenly felt warm.

“Mate,” he said out loud, turning the word in his mouth. 

And to think he believed he’d found it, this bond, years ago with Feyre.

No matter how happy he’d been with Feyre, he could feel the difference between loving someone and – this.

And he had loved Feyre. Wildly. Dangerously. 

This love was different – it was calm, gentle, and selfless. The foundation was stronger, bigger. Made of steel. It was flaming fire and soothing waters. It was teasing smiles and sharp remarks. Tender touches and soft laughter. Dark wings and warmth.

It was a spring breeze in the middle of a roaring storm.

“Mate,” he whispered to her, smiling despite himself.

And he felt the same he had in that mountain – that chanting that drove him to her. That song in his heart that repeated her name.

Gently, tenderly, Tamlin lifted her hand to his mouth. He placed a kiss on her skin, hope crackling in his heart at the warmth he felt emanating more and more from her, each passing second. He kissed her knuckles then, just a brief press of his lips. And then he murmured to her, “Wake up, Emerie,” he smiled, hot, happy tears swimming in his eyes. “Come back to me.”

***

Emerie

The light was too bright.

Sunlight filled the room, blinding and annoying, caressing the tips of her wings. Her head was pounding, though her heart was steady.

She was not in the snow.

She was in a bed. A comfortable one at that.

And she had a sleeping Tamlin across from her, seated against one of the wooden posters of the bed, sleeping with his mouth open.

Tamlin.

She blinked.

His clothes were formal, as if he was just missing a crown on his head and a throne on his ass. A white jacket with golden buttons framed his chest paired with clean black pants. His hair was tied at the back, his face somehow older, tired.

She looked around, feeling the pain in her muscles. The room was elegant and adorned with fresh flowers – tulips and daisies and many others she did not know the name of – and it smelled of open fields and fresh grass, of burning wood and pine trees. She realized that that was the smell she’d always associated with Tamlin, although unknowingly, that sweet fragrance of spring-

She was in the Spring Court.

Fuck. I’m in the Spring Court.

She looked at Tamlin accusingly, even though he was fast asleep. How did he manage-?

He found her.

She was caught in the storm.

Emerie lifted the covers and found her body patched with bandages, mainly in her arms. Opening one gently, she realized she had cuts – clean and sharp and just over the surface of her skin, nothing major and nothing that wouldn’t heal in a day or so. They looked like glass cuts. But she knew it had been the pricks of ice.

Maybe the wolves had only been in her imagination, but-

Tamlin. He’d found her.

She found that she could sit. Even though her bones felt heavier than usual and her head hurt, she was alive.

Her heart raced as she looked at him.

Tamlin.

His eyes opened, as if he had heard her call out his name in her mind.

They stared at each other.

It seemed as if they stared at each other for hours, testing each other out to see which one would move first. As she watched the surprise fade from Tamlin’s gaze, as she saw his eyes change into something like relief and happiness and joy and everything good feeling in the world, Emerie cracked.

Slowly, carefully, she crawled to him, ignoring the pain in her body. Tamlin watched her with wide eyes, breathing hard. There were dark circles under his eye and a slight blond scruff forming on his jaw and chin, around his mouth. The latter suited him. The first worried her.

Emerie let herself crawl into his lap, a sob escaping her as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders. Tamlin held her firmly, yet she could feel the tenderness in his touch, the carefulness. His buried his face on her neck as she did with him, and breathed in in relief.

Being in his arms again felt like opening a cage.

“Tamlin,” she murmured, fresh tears coating her cheeks.

Tamlin let out a laugh – a low sound, mixed with sadness and joy. She realized she was wearing a white nightgown, simple and opaque, but comfortable and airy. It smelled like him.

It wasn’t a nightgown. It was his shirt.

“Tamlin,” she said again, almost singing his name, still wrapped in his arms.

Her mate.

And again – that laugh. That smile against her neck as he clutched her tight.

“Tam-lin,” he repeated back to her, smiling gently. Tamlin pulled away, staring down at her face. His hands touched her cheeks, “I missed that.”

“I missed you.”

Tamlin stared at her, and as she said the words his face fell. Happiness blinked out of his eyes and then - grief. There was grief in his eyes.

“What were you thinking?” He whispered to her.

“Tamlin-“

“If I hadn’t gotten to you in time…” he said, thumbs on either side of her mouth, caressing her skin. “Emerie, why? What were you doing?”

“I was trying to get to you,” she blurted out.

Tamlin raised his eyebrows.

So she told him, watching as his face changed, watching as his eyes scanned her features as if he wasn’t sure any of this was real. She told him – not everything, but most of it.

Her heart was a nervous wreck.

Just tell him.

You’ve made it this far.

Tell him.

Tamlin whispered, “You had a note for me?”

Emerie went silent, her lips parted, though no words came out.

Tamlin caressed her legs, soothing her body, comforting her. “What did it say?” He asked slowly.

Emerie swallowed hard, looking away towards the windows, to the bright sunlight and the large, never-ending fields beyond.

“Emerie,” Tamlin said, turning her face towards him. He looked at her in the eyes and she saw those same green fields reflected in his. “Why come all this way for a note?”

“Had to tell you one thing,” she said.

“What?”

“That you’re a douchebag,” she blurted out.

Tamlin cocked his head to the side, fighting a smile. “You’re not serious.”

“I am,” she said. “Very serious.”

“Tell me,” he pleaded, eyes bright.

She was positive he could her heart.

Emerie found it difficult to breathe as she said, “Do you still have my clothes? My coat?”

Tamlin looked behind him, “I placed them there to dry by the fireplace, why?”

Emerie slid off his lap. “The note’s in the left pocket. If I didn’t lose it – it’s there.”

Tamlin looked at her for a second too long before getting up and walking to her coat. She held her breath as he took out the small noted, folded and crinkled.

He looked at her.

She nodded – a silent request.

Tamlin opened it and read it.

She watched his eyes trail across the lines and recited in her head the same words,

I was the one that told you to leave, and now I can’t sleep without seeing your face, making sure you’re alright. I fell in love without meaning to. I know our circumstances. I know how impossible we are. But if you feel the same, you know where to find me.

I still have one name I haven’t called you:

Mate.

Her hands trembled as his eyes turned to her.

And she saw more than realization in her eyes. She saw-

Hope. And that same joy from before. 

A confirmation.

“You know.”

“You know.”

They said it at the same time.

Tamlin was walking towards her in the blink of an eye.

His lips touched hers and it was fire.

It was hurricanes and gentle waters as Emerie touched his cheeks and pulled him down to her. His lips caressed hers gently, though urgently, his smile against hers, his body lowering hers down onto the bed. The pain in her muscles was nothing. She was alive, so, so alive.

“You,” he murmured as he pulled away, as he looked down at her. “My mate.”

Emerie didn’t care.

Didn’t care what she was or what she had been. Didn’t care about their different worlds. Didn’t care about Courts and places and wars and mistakes they made with each other. Everything resumed to his lips against hers and his hand touching her cheek.

Emerie looked up at him, her smile hurting her cheeks.

“My mate,” she repeated to him, tracing his cheek with her thumb.

Tamlin touched his forehead to hers, and they breathed each other’s air. His nose bumped into hers, his smile playful, happy. “I love you,” he whispered. “I love you,” he whispered again, letting his lips touch hers again. Tamlin stared at her, “Can you love a beast?”

Emerie shook her head at him, touching his cheeks and dragging him down for another kiss. It seemed to last an eternity. Gentle, sweet pecks that she placed over his mouth, loving kisses that sent her heart soaring. Her wings enveloped him.

“I love you,” she whispered to him, comforted in their embrace. The world was bright. So bright. There wasn’t any snow now. “Can you love a bird that can’t fly?”

Tamlin breathed a laugh against her, wrapping his arms around her frame, laying down next to her. His kisses made her fall deeper and deeper into that sweet, sun-lit abyss. And she was home.

“My little bird,” he kissed her nose, her forehead, her lips. “You fly higher than anyone else.”

Emerie was soaring.

She wrapped her mate in her arms. And she fell asleep with the comforting heat of his body, the solid beat of his heart.

The cage was wide open. And Emerie opened her wings and flew away.

***

Epilogue

 

Tamlin

No one disturbed them while they slept. And when they woke up, the night kissed the skies. And Tamlin kissed his mate’s face. 

He’d changed to sleeping wear, both of them silently deciding to hold each other throughout the night. He wasn’t ready to let her go for one more second, and Emerie seemed determined to stay in his arms just the same. And still, despite it all, she managed to bicker with him.

“You’re a heavy bastard,” she had grinned, her wing pushing him over and off her. “Move, or you’re going to crush me.”

He’d been previously distracted by her lovely neck - her lovely neck that deserved all the kisses he could get. Needless to say, he’d gotten too distracted.

Smirking, Tamlin had held on to her and flipped them so she laid on top of him.

“You’re uncomfortable,” she’d said to him.

But she hadn’t moved.

“Do you just complain for the sake of complaining?” he’d smirked up at her, stealing a kiss or two.

Emerie’s smirk echoed his, and when she opened her mouth - probably to throw some sharp remark at him - Tamlin just kissed her again.

In those three days she’d been asleep, Tamlin had felt hollow leaving her side even if it was because of basic necessities. Showering was unbearable, even if he knew she was soundly asleep. Eating even worse.

But she’d woken up. She’d come back to him.

“Beautiful,” he whispered, watching her wings almost sparkle in the candle light.

Emerie smiled. Her rosy lips touched his chin lazily. “I think you’re beautiful.”

“With claws and everything?”

She kissed him. “With claws and everything.”

He smiled against her mouth and deepened their kiss, not pulling away until they were both struggling for breath. The starlight illuminated her eyes, happiness dancing in them.

“Tamlin,” she whispered.

He smiled at the way she said his name.

“Hmm.”

“We have a lot to figure out.”

He sighed softly, playing with one of her curls, twirling it around his finger, “We do,” he said gently. “We have time.”

She nodded, settling her head into his warm chest.

Tamlin held her. “So is that the last name in the book - your mate?”

Emerie scoffed a laugh. She looked up. “Oh, I have many, many others, High Lord.”

Tamlin smiled. He wouldn’t have expected any less. He kissed her once, twice, thrice. A fourth time for good measure. And then a fifth time just because he could, because she wanted him to. A kiss for every time he had wanted to say those three words he promptly whispered in her ear. 

“I can’t wait to hear them all, mate.”

And despite everything – despite all the things they still had to discuss, to go through, to figure out, Tamlin had a feeling that Emerie was here to stay.

The female who had found a broken beast on its knees dying in the snow.

The female who had showed him mercy even when he didn’t deserve it.

The friend who had listened.

The lover who had comforted him.

The companion who had understood.

The mate – his mate – who had learned to see past every mistake.

Who learned to love a beast.

The End?


End file.
